


It's been a long time coming

by jstrattford



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Slow Build, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jstrattford/pseuds/jstrattford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s famously bad at sports. And naturally, he never misses the track team’s events because of the captain, Niall Horan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's been a long time coming

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a mini-fic that was split into five parts but I've made it into a [oneshot](http://arie-172.tumblr.com/post/94850603712/babe-its-been-a-long-time-comingoneshot/) . Again, I'm not very happy with how I've written this, but because this is one of my longer fics I've decided to post it on here.

Harry will be the first to admit he’s a mess whenever it comes to playing any sport.

He’s always been the one who’s picked last because he’s been known as the boy with the two left feet and Mr. Butterfingers, Harry Styles, with absolutely no hand coordination - as evidenced by his inability to catch or throw a single ball into the net.

It’s not like it even matters, though.

Sports just aren’t Harry’s thing, and he’ll be the very first to own up to what some would call his biggest flaw. He’s just never had the intention of being a famous athlete, and he’d much rather watch than actually be the one getting dirt on his shoes, or get his curly hair filled with that mud that forms each time it rains because this is London. It _always_ rains in London.

And that’s exactly why all Harry does is watches. He _only_ watches.

He watches his school’s basketball team play (mostly out of obligation) because his friend, Liam Payne, is the captain; and he goes to the tennis matches because Louis is pretty respectable at hitting the ball with a racket.

All in all, Harry goes to offer them support and not because he’s interested in the sports and they know it.

Which could explain the various amount of teasing Harry gets each time he goes to the track competitions, because they know of Harry’s motives for going.

With a smirk in place, Louis always teases Harry, telling him, “track, huh? You must really like the _sport_ ,” words having no actual relevance to the sport. And like a fool who’s unable to stop, Harry blushes, muttering, “it’s alright,” knowing that he’s been caught.

Either way, it doesn’t stop Harry from going to those sporting events every chance he gets.

He’s decided early on that it’s the only one that even really matters because it allows him the opportunity of staring at him, Niall Horan, without having to worry about getting caught.

True. Harry will admit that it’s kind of ridiculous the lengths he goes through just to catch a glimpse of Niall, but he doesn’t have the guts to talk to Niall, like any other normal, sensible person would. It’s silly too because Niall’s generally known as a very engaging guy with so many friends, but really. That’s to expect from the captain of the track team.

He’s just so sociable and shines so brightly while Harry shrinks into the background, with very few people taking notice of his absence, or presence for that matter.

The only note-worthy thing people remember Harry for is dropping the ball in the 5th grade, which cost the whole class the opportunity of having a pizza party - a fact people still like to remind him of, when it was years ago. _8 years ago_ to be exact.

Things like that are the reason why Harry keeps to himself, approaching very few people, which is alarming when looking at his two best friends, Liam and Louis, because they’re generally very well-known while Harry’s so… not. He figures that he was just lucky in meeting them before becoming so self-critical, but even then, they would’ve accepted him for who he was because that’s just the type of people they are.

It’s that acceptance and good-natured side that draws Harry in, and ever since that fateful 7th grade when Harry saw Niall dribbling a basketball, he could _feel_ it in his bones that Niall was someone he wanted to be close to.

Niall was just someone who seemed to possess an incredible ease about him, always smiling politely, and never showing a tiny hint of anger - even to those who merited said behavior. He just had something about him that intrigued Harry at an alarming speed, before quickly realizing that his infatuation had turned into something much more greater - unfortunately so.

It's a strain near Harry's chest seeing Niall talking to so many people every time, stomach clinching into a tight ball, knowing that he’ll never be able to pluck the courage to talk the boy with blond hair and crystal blue eyes that shine whenever he talks to someone, face glowing with each laugh that escapes his body.

Oh, how Harry wishes he could be that special someone to Niall. Anyone really, but how can he? How can he when he’s pretty sure Niall doesn’t even know his last name?

But that’s really Harry’s fault because he’s just such a coward. Such a big one that he’d rather endure watching Niall from afar than going up to talk to him.

And when he thinks about it like that, it’s hard to feel any empathy for himself.

And of course, he doesn’t.

*

Sometimes, Harry likes to watch the track team run during their practices.

 _Sometimes_.

Even in Harry’s head that sounds like an enormous lie because it’s not just _sometimes_. It’s more like _every time_ \- just in the dreaded hope of catching a glimpse of Niall running across the school’s field in his too-tiny red shorts.

And that’s how Harry remains on that unusually hot Tuesday afternoon, hands clasped together as his green eyes take in the somewhat chaotic spectacle gathered in front of his eyes, better known as sports practice.

He’s probably the only non-athletic guy in the vicinity sitting on the aqua blue bleachers, but he’s not too worried about attracting attention because by now he’s learned that very few people really do take notice of him.

It sounds depressing and all, but it’s what Harry’s become used to, which could be why he settles on just watching instead of joining the laughing people surrounding Niall.

 _Fuck that_ , Harry thinks, jaw tensing as he clenches his teeth.

He tries telling himself that the tightening in his chest is based solely on way the warmth from the sun is spreading throughout his whole body, and making small amounts of sweat form on his forehead. That it’s unrelated to Niall hanging his arm around one of the seniors, Josh, as they share a very loud laugh.

But Harry ignores that because the anger will be flooding through his veins if he spends one more second watching Niall cling to some guy he’s pretty much decided he’s not fond of because, _really?_

 _Who even wears sleeveless shirts anymore?_ Harry angrily thinks, but shifts his attention to something much more soothing to his soaring anger.

Instead, Harry focuses on the way Niall’s cheeks flush into spectacular pink, possible side effects from the burning sun, and the way his face is spreading so much warmth and so much reassurance, that Harry can’t help but smile at the wondrous boy in front of him.

He’s too zoned in that he nearly jumps out of his seat when he feels a callused hand pat him, lightly enough for it to be friendly.

Harry lets out a small breath in relief because he knows who this is, turning to be greeted by his friends, Liam and Louis, dressed in their gym clothes, with a very strong smell of sweat following them.

They've got red-stained faces and their chests are rapidly heaving up and down, looking as if they’re about to explode a lung with their very loud gasps for air.

A complete mess, Harry reasons. They look that bad that Harry actually has to take his eyes off Niall and examine the unusual spectacle in front of him, as they lazily take the unoccupied seats next to Harry.

“Hey, are you guys alright?” Harry questions, noting the bright redness that’s smeared in both of their faces.

Louis is still having a hard time catching his breath so it’s Liam who speaks up, inhaling loudly to steady himself.

“We’re alright,” he says weakly, and normally Harry would believe Liam, but his burning cheeks make it quite clear that neither of them are fine. This is far from fine.

“It doesn’t look like it,” Harry observes, and when Louis finally catches his breath, he lets out a very audible groan.

“It’s too fucking hot!” He mutters, his white t-shirt drenched in sweat, and normally Harry would expect this type of thing from Louis, but he sounds so tired that it’s only causing him to become more worried.

“Why don’t you just skip practice?” Harry ponders, and to him this seems like a valid suggestion, but the incredulous look on Louis’ face tells him that evidently that was the wrong thing to say. Very wrong, indeed.

“Are you kidding me? If we skip we’ll only get penalized for it by having to do more freaking lunges and squats tomorrow,” Louis mutters, and ouch, that hurts. But Harry figures that his irritation has more to do with the sun that’s piercing into his skin and less to do with the actual question, but still. The harshness in Louis’ tone causes Harry to draw back a bit, which Liam of course notices.

Liam places a gentle hand on Louis’ arm nudging him lightly.

“Relax.” Liam tells him, and amazingly so, Louis does exactly that, mumbling harshly underneath his breath, but drawing back into Liam’s touch.

Their close proximity makes Harry feel very much like an intruder as he awkwardly averts his gaze. However, it’s actually much worse because he finds something that sends his insides singing even more firmly now, because there Niall is, waving his hand widely at Louis and Liam.

Louis nudges Liam once he sees Niall, as they both return the wave, and if Harry didn’t feel like a third wheel before, he very much feels like one now.

He draws a small breath, but it’s sucked out of his body quicker than the action when his eyes somehow manage to lock with Niall’s.

 _Fuck_.

Harry can’t even look away now because he knows that if he does, it’ll show just how big of bonehead he actually is, but _fuck_. It’s so hard to keep his emotions in check when Niall’s blue eyes are trailing the lines on Harry’s face.

The bright smile on Niall’s has fallen a little, and his brows are tilting in confusion, as his hand awkwardly sticks in the air. However, he recovers quickly and flings his hand once again, almost like he’s about to wave, but it’s too much. Too strong. Too fucking intoxicating, that Harry has to avert his gaze before Niall can give him another reason to have a panic attack.

Louis catches it, though, because he frowns at Harry’s crimson face that’s smeared in colors that resemble a burning fire.

“What was that?” Louis asks, voice stern and commanding, eyes condescendingly judging Harry.

The answer’s staring him right in the face, no more than five meters away, but Harry shrugs.

“Nothing,” Harry says, knowing just how silly that sounds because even in his ears that “nothing” rings like a big “him.”

Louis isn’t buying it either, as he rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t seem like it,” Louis grumbles underneath his breath, but the little shush from Liam is enough to calm him down. Just a little.

It’s a bit awkward on Harry’s part as they sit in silence until both Louis and Liam restore some much-needed energy, letting out a very loud groan as they stand. They’re too tired that they don’t even say goodbye to Harry, and walk back to their destination with heavy feet, like prisoners.

“See you,” Harry mutters to himself, adjusting the collar of his plain white t-shirt in his attempt to distract himself. He’s trying to find any excuse to not look up because he’s pretty sure that Niall’s still out there, but it’s his damn curiosity that gets the best of him, finding the slight courage to look back up.

Harry’s eyes anxiously trace the field, expectancy shining in them, as he furtively searches for Niall.

He knows that perhaps he looks a little crazy with his wild eyes and delirious face, but he doesn’t stop until he finally sees that strand of blond hair that stands out against the sea of people with brown and black hair.

Niall’s animatedly talking, commanding the attention from the whole pack, and Harry’s heart does a couple of somersaults, wondering just why he always crumbled in Niall’s presence.

Why couldn’t he be the one standing next to Niall and making him let out a loud laugh that echoed, even in the outside air? Why was he not the one having the pleasure of seeing Niall’s shinning face reward him a smile each time he found something even remotely funny?

Harry watches Niall laugh as he wallows in a very depressingly, huge amount of self-pity. He forces himself to watch because even if it makes the pain in his chest soar, this is really the only connection he has to Niall.

He just takes in the sight, huge breath knocked out of his lungs when Niall stops talking, alarmed.

Niall’s whole body tenses as he slowly moves his head to the right and to the left, almost like he can sense someone watching. He tilts a brow and just as he’s about to lift his gaze back up, Harry averts his because well. He’s just not sure he’s ready for that, clammy hands trembling slightly.

*

The dreadfully warm weather continues its way all through the rest of the week - unfortunately for all the athletes.

Harry notices that most of them are drenched in sweat by the end of practice, and that they’ve got red-stained cheeks that are very noticeable against their usually pale skin.

Harry also notices that Niall in particular is having a rough time.

He’s been visibly slowing down as each day passes and he limps every once in a while, but he forces a very convincing smile that’d be easy to buy if Harry hadn’t been paying close attention to the way Niall’s squeezes his knees, massaging them with a pained expression on his face when he thinks no one is watching.

It makes him worry more than he wants to admit because Niall’s not even his friend, but it doesn’t stop him from paying close attention to each one of his movements, brows knitted together when he thinks he sees Niall’s already worked-up lungs take in another deep breath.

These symptoms are screaming danger, and to say that Harry’s concerned would be the understatement of the century.

It’s almost like he’s the one doing all the running because he’s the one feeling his sides hurt - with a pressure in his chest that’s suffocating him each time Niall’s gasping for air.

Things just aren’t looking good, which is why Harry’s heart drops that late Friday afternoon when Niall decides to stay well past the end of practice to keep running.

No one else notices, though. They all react normally and smile at Niall as if admiring his dedication, but it’s Harry who’s freaking out over a situation he thinks can’t end positively.

In a normal circumstance, he’d possibly just alert anyone else about so-and-so, but because this is Niall, this just glides into a much more personal level. He, for some reason, feels the need to watch over Niall - no matter what.

It’s still makes it strange to spy on Niall though, because Harry knows just how bad it’ll look if he gets caught. But since his concern is spinning in his gut, he does it anyway - hiding quietly underneath the bleachers as he keeps a close watch on Niall.

Harry’s not sure how long he’s going to stay either because Niall’s not showing any signs of slowing down.

Niall paces back and forth, doing what would normally be classified drills, but at this point they look like torture because of the way he’s taking in labored breaths through his mouth, as he uses the muscles on his legs to keep running, almost like he’s willing himself to keep going.

That’s sign number one to Harry that perhaps Niall shouldn’t be running anymore, but he’s got to be careful and not startle Niall because of his fear that it might just cause Niall a heart attack. He’s already working himself up too much, so the thought wouldn’t be that far-fetched, Harry thinks.

If Harry senses something’s completely off, then he’ll interfere. But at the moment all he can do is watch, as he keeps his very alert eyes on Niall.

Niall keeps it up for another good fifteen minutes, and just when Harry thinks that perhaps he’s been imagining things, _it happens_.

Niall’s striding through the field in a speeding pace but suddenly he stops, like he’s dumfounded. He frowns as he places a firm hand on his chest, face edging towards pained and panic, as he attempts to stroke his ribcage.

Harry pulls himself closer to the scene, blood rushing in his ears, because _oh, no_. _Niall’s falling apart_ , he realizes, eyes shooting open when Niall rapidly falls to the floor, despite his efforts to stay grounded.

Harry’s heart almost stops once he sees Niall on his knees, clutching tightly to the area near his ribcage, attempting to take breaths that Harry’s sure are pretty nonexistent at this point.

Because, of course. He’s got asthma.

On instinct, Harry bolts up, sprinting with all he’s got - more anxious to get to Niall’s side than worry about the fact that he’s got a sprained ankle, determination etched in his face because nothing at that moment seems more important than Niall.

Harry forces himself to keep a strong face when he reaches Niall, because he knows that if shows just how scared he is, Niall will break down even more.

So instead, Harry places a strong, firm hand on Niall’s back, whose chest won’t stop rising up and down, as he keeps his eyes shut with pain drawn on his face. He’s whimpering loudly, resembling the noise of a dying animal, raspy and sharp, and if Harry was scared before, now he’s just screaming inside.

He’s never been more terrified because this is all so unfamiliar and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been in this situation, but looking at Niall’s battered posture stirs Harry’s insides with a passion, telling himself, _relax. He’s counting on you._

Harry takes a short breath before reaching out and lacing a hand around Niall’s hand to let him know that he’s there.

It might be in his desperation but Niall just squeezes, and ouch. That _really_ hurts Harry’s hand, marking his skin white, as Harry tries to not scream in his own pain.

But he’s got more important things to worry about because Niall’s shortness of breath is making the muscles on his face tense, and he just won’t stop letting out small coughs.

“Where’s your inhaler?” Harry manages to ask, voice quiet but stern.

“B-bag,” Niall whimpers out through a coughing that won’t stop, signaling to the blue bag that’s sprawled over the grass.

Harry flings his body and frantically searches for the small device, but each second he doesn’t find it seems like an extra minute he can’t afford to lose because fuck. He’s basically all Niall has at this moment, and perhaps that all he needs to remind himself to not lose his focus and keep searching.

Harry pushes through Niall’s books, sighing in relief when he finally finds the tiny inhaler. He doesn’t dare lose another moment and passes it to Niall, who lets out a small whimper that sounds very grateful.

As soon as Niall takes a breath through it, everything disappears. The way he was struggling to catch his breath, the loud coughs he couldn’t control, and the anguished look on his face - it’s all gone.

It’s like a whole weight has been lifted off of Niall now that he can finally breathe, as he closes his eyes and takes his time to find a steady pace.

“Are you okay?” Harry wants to ask, but stops himself before he can because of course Niall isn’t okay. He just had an asthma attack. Only a fool would think about asking such a ridiculous question.

What Harry does instead is examine Niall’s face, amazed at just how beautiful he looks when he just had an attack. It’s strange, really, but Harry can’t stop it. It’s Niall’s scent, his face, his lips, everything really, that captivates him.

_Everything._

It doesn’t last long, though, because then Niall opens his eyes and Harry goes back to his cowardly self and averts his gaze. It shouldn’t be hard for him to look Niall in the eyes after what just happened, but the area near his chest is pounding loudly now, and he feels so hot underneath his shirt.

However, he takes a chance.

Harry slowly lifts his head, breath knocked out of him when he sees the gentle smile on Niall’s face, and even if it’s on such a pale face, it looks absolutely lovely.

Harry's heart lurches but he returns the smile, bashfully so, but drops his gaze shortly. It wasn’t held for more than 5 seconds but for Harry that’s already a win - a big one at that.

“Ugh,” Niall cries out, surprising Harry, as he glances back at Niall attempting to stand. Between the thud in Harry’s heart and Niall’s fatigued face, Harry kind of expected Niall to want to sit longer and rest, but he doesn’t.

He actually wants to stand but winces in pain when he can’t find the stamina to do so, looking so fatigued and almost like the first gust of wind will make him fall back because of the enormous amount of energy that was just taken out of his body.

So Harry does the next reasonable thing.

“Here,” Harry says, standing and signaling his arm. Niall blinks his tired eyes but obliges shortly, resting his entire weight against Harry’s arm. He’s actually a lot heavier than he looks, Harry thinks, but he slowly begins walking.

“Where to?” Harry asks, turning slightly.

Niall hums out a small breath, faint, as his warm breath hits Harry’s face.

“The locker room,” Niall says weakly.

Harry nods but hesitates. “Wouldn’t it be better to call your parents?”

With those words, Niall tenses, using what’s left of his energy to shake his head.

“They’d freak out,” he says, gazing up at Harry with those big eyes of his. “They wouldn’t let me run track any more,” he pleads, and well. Even if Harry’s against the idea, it’s quite impossible for him to imagine saying no to Niall when he gazes at him with those expectant eyes, so he lets it be for the time being.

“Alright,” Harry agrees, glad when Niall relaxes back against his arm. There’d be more time to talk about this, he reasons, leading a tired Niall to the locker room.

*

When they finally get to the locker room, Niall’s looking a lot better.

His back’s not hunched anymore and the color is finally coming back to his cheeks. Sure, it’s pale one, but it’s a lot better than the marble white one that made him look so lifeless. So frigid. So unlike, well…Niall.

However, even through Harry’s brave episode, he suddenly feels shy with Niall because right. He’s remembering that they're basically strangers.

Niall for his part doesn’t seemed bothered but he does gaze at Harry with a slight smile on his face, tentatively grazing Harry’s face with his beautiful blue eyes.

“Thanks…” Niall hesitates, uncertainty shinning in his eyes. “For everything?” He says, except that it comes off as a question because his brows are tilted and his face is scrunched, like he’s having a hard time reading Harry.

It makes Harry uncomfortable but he returns the smile, certain that his eyes are expressing so much fondness but he can’t help it. This is what Niall does to him, whether he likes it or not.

“No problem,” is Harry’s only suitable response. He’s got so much he wants to say but Niall’s just gone through an attack, so he’ll just stick to the basics.

Niall stares at Harry with parted lips, unreadable expression on his face that makes Harry’s heart speed and his palms sweat. He’s confused as to why Niall’s not saying anything, but it’s the way he’s looking at him that’s more startling.

Harry lets out a small wave, as he starts to move when he hears Niall call back to him.

“You know, you’re alright,” and it might as well have been “I like you,” because that’s what it sounds like to Harry. He can barely contain the small smile on his face, dimples marking his face, as he turns to look back at Niall’s faint smile.

“You’re alright too,” Harry says, laughing. Niall chuckles at that, loud and friendly - the one Harry’s been dying to hear from up close.

“Thanks, Harry,” and wow. He actually knows his name. The thought comes as a shock to Harry as he stares into Niall’s face, eyes shinning, except this time, he doesn’t look away.

He holds it for as long as he can because who knows just when he’ll be able to do this again. When will he be graced with this close proximity of Niall’s face? When will he be able to hear that rich Irish accent that makes his chest swell up? Just.. _.when?_

Harry quickly licks his lips as he traces the outline of Niall’s soft ones that have parted open, catching Harry’s full attention as he looks back at Niall’s flushed face.

Niall’s shifting uncomfortably and Harry’s gloating now because he just made Niall blush. He did that.

“I’ll see you around?” Niall asks, curiosity etched in his voice, as he bashfully looks at Harry’s face.

“Only if you want,” Harry says, pleased to see the glowing blush spreading through all of Niall’s body.

If he could say the right words, he’d say something like, “I’ll take that as a yes,” but since this is new and Niall’s still not recovered, he’ll just wait. Niall’s worth it, so he’ll endure everything.

“See you,” is all Harry says, smirking at Niall before turning, catching Niall’s faint, “you too.” And if Harry had it his way, he’d definitely be seeing more of Niall. He definitely would.

*

_One week._

One long and slow week.

It takes Harry those 168 gruesome hours until he finally plucks some much-needed courage to venture back into the track field practices.

He’d been purposely avoiding it because amidst his sudden burst of confidence, it all kind of went downhill once the realization of what had happened entered his thick skull.

Harry had saved Niall.

He had saved him.

Saved him from what was sure to have been a disastrous result, punctuated by the relief on Niall’s panicked face when he saw that he was in fact not alone because Harry was there.

Or the way Niall’s eyes softened when he caught a glimpse of Harry sprinting towards him - only in a way Harry had been dreaming of since the 8th grade. Perhaps longer if he admitted it, evidenced by the secretive glances he stole oh-so-often in Niall’s direction.

But, really. That’s something no one else needs to know about, stored away in Harry’s most precious memories - just like the lingering one that keeps Harry awake at 2am.

Harry’s been replaying every detail of that Friday afternoon, with that silly, slight grin on his face, because the memory of Niall’s red-stricken face is just about the most glorious sight he’s ever seen. Or the magical glow in Niall’s skin when Harry’s eyes trailed their way over the curve of his lips. And, Harry’s _definitely_ been thinking about the way Niall’s eyes lit up with wonder when Harry gave him one last cheeky grin before walking away.

Harry could remember it as if it were yesterday with such clarity because the mere memory keeps his heart singing, doing somersaults in delight, each time he envisions Niall’s lovely pale face taint into a marvelous pink, because, this is Niall. It’s so easy to tell when he’s embarrassed.

But, along with those beautifully breathtaking images is a much more terrifying one of Niall’s crumbling body etched with so much fear, as he shook to the ground and whimpered in pain, as Harry felt his own lungs losing breath because Niall looked so worn-out and lifeless and -

Harry quivers at just the thought, making his insides twist and the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

 _No_. He couldn’t even bare thinking about the outcome had he been elsewhere. He could _never._

What he’s been focusing on instead is something so insignificant to perhaps Niall, but something undeniably crucial to him: the fact that he had been caught spying on Niall.

After Harry’s initial glee of helping a fatigued Niall, he was stricken with the hard cold and rather depressing truth - Niall knew that he had been followed.

The more Harry thought about it, the more obvious it was.

How else would Harry have been there? What were the chances that he was at the same vicinity when there was not a soul to be seen besides Niall?

Niall must’ve known that. Question is, does it bother him?

It didn’t particularly look like it did. On the contrary, he seemed beyond relieved when Harry raced to him, as he tried gasping for the nonexistent air that his lungs begged of him.

And…despite Harry’s rather self-deprecating mentality, he will admit that he’s thankful to have gone. That despite all the utter embarrassment he’s felt afterward for what he thinks is cringe-worthy behavior, he’s after all the reason for Niall’s well being.

It’s precisely this conclusion that finally gives Harry the strength to go back to the track practices, head held high, that Monday afternoon.

He’s shivering as he sits on the blue bleachers, quietly watching the track team begin their daily warm ups, but he tries telling himself that his shaking body is more or less because it’s gone back to its cold and miserable London weather, grey clouds looking as if it will begin pouring raindrops any second now, because, this is London after all.

And being the careful guy he is, Harry wears his blue jumper over a plain white long-sleeved shirt to shield his body from the gust of air that blows and hits his face with such a force that it marks his cheeks into a faint pink each time he has the misfortune of getting hit. He attempts countering this breeze by blowing warm breaths into his hand to feel some heat that his freezing body would greatly appreciate, sitting and watching the track team do warm ups.

The drills are always the same, too. It’s all a very familiar routine to Harry, as he lets his eyes roam the field, taking in a rather normal sight he’s become used to for the past 4 months.

All the boys are wearing their tiny red shorts that have been paired with a rather alarmingly thin water-resistant running jacket that comes in handy when it pours, but don’t offer much warmth - evidenced by the slight shivers that escape their bodies every so often.

Which coincidentally is another reason why Harry’s not an athlete. Give him the choice between warmth or cold, he’ll gladly endure the warmth than run in those practically non-existent shorts in the freezing cold any time.

Harry swats a curl out of his face as he watches the team doing those not-so-comfortable movements, but, realistically he’s more focused on the way Niall’s standing apart from them - presumably because of his job as a captain - instructing his team.

He’s a leader and a good one at that, instructing others like he was born to be in this position, but he’s also incredibly fair and compassionate - all the things a leader should be in Harry’s opinion.

Niall shadows around the boys with his lips pressed in a tight line, voice stern, as the booming counts echo across the field.

This Niall, this facial expression, is probably the most serious one Harry’s ever seen on him. But, he likes this side of Niall too. Not quite like the laughing one, but this one, he supposes, isn’t that bad.

Harry takes a small breath watching Niall completely in his element, eyes shinning. He feels ridiculous because he’s acting like such a dork, but at this point it’s too strong to try to deny because the loud thud in his heart only increases with no such signs of slowing down, and despite the cold, he’s sweating underneath his shirt, vague dampness underneath it.

It always surprises Harry just how taken he is with Niall. He can’t really say he knows a lot about him, and he hasn’t really been blessed with holding a conversation with him, but he’s just got something that makes Harry think perhaps he wants to know more.

Perhaps it’s unnerving and he can’t fathom why, but it keeps his blood coursing with each time he thinks about Niall’s face blossom into a smile directed only at him. There’s nothing he’d like more of than to see that. That much has always been clear to Harry, evidenced by the way his lungs feel there's too little oxygen in his system when the corner of Niall's lips tug upwards.

_Damn this._

The muscles on Harry’s face tighten as he studies the wonderful flushness on Niall’s cheeks. And, it’s when it happens.

As concentrated and determined as the emotions are on Niall’s face, it breaks once he turns and locks eyes with a shocked Harry.

_Oh._

Harry should probably be looking down by now, but for some reason he doesn’t.

It’s strange because out of all the times this has happened, Harry’s always the first to glance down. This time however, it’s completely different. Not because Niall glances down (he doesn’t), but because Harry doesn’t look away. He keeps his eyes on Niall’s face, noticing the slight way he tilts a brow, and the little slight smile gracing his face.

 _Hold it. Hold it_ , Harry tells himself. If he had been a knob-head before that was fine. But this time, he wasn’t going to let that happen. So he keeps looking - even when Niall begins walking his way.

He’s got that unreadable look cemented on him that Harry wishes he could read but damn. Niall’s got quite the poker face.

All Harry can do is wait. Wait until Niall finally makes his way to him, close proximity sweeping the air out of Harry’s body, writhing in his suppressed nerves and delight, as Niall smiles softly in reassurance.

“How…” Niall pauses, scratching the back of his neck, obviously trying to buy time. He inhales a small breath that by instinct freaks Harry out, remembering how that ended up last time. But Niall continues.

“Good weather, isn’t it?” He chirps, and wow. Harry wasn’t expecting this type small talk from Niall.

“It’s…” Harry pauses. “It’s alright.” He nods his head slowly, like he’s trying to understand why Niall’s even there. He doesn’t say anything else though, which makes it more awkward on Harry’s part. In all the made-up scenarios, this wasn’t how Harry had pictured their encounter. Not even close to this.

Niall hums at that, with an ease and a confidence that refuses to let this become another one of Harry’s cringe-worthy memories.

“You weren’t here last week,” Niall observes, giving Harry a gentle smile, and whoa. Niall actually noticed his lack of presence? He actually noticed the boy no one else seemed to bother with? _Him?_

The fact is so surprising to Harry, as he parts his lips open in surprise.

“I was busy,” he says simply, because at this point he’s at a loss for words.

Niall lets out a small smile. “I figured,” he chuckles, warmth radiating in his laugh. This noise suits Niall quite well. Niall should always be laughing, Harry decides.

Niall grins again, breaking Harry’s trance. “It was just strange because you’re always here.”

“Oh…uh…” Harry tilts a brow, because what did that even mean? He wonders if his face is screaming some type of harsh emotion because Niall’s eyes widen and he shakes his head apologetically, a slight pink spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. And although this look suits Niall rather nicely, he’d rather not scare him away just yet.

“Not that it’s a bad thing, of course. I just wondered where you’d gone off to,” Niall hurriedly says, sincerity etched in his voice.

“I was busy,” Harry repeats, and wow. That sounded so cold and icy - the exact opposite of what he wanted, jaw tensing. Niall doesn’t notice, though.

He just laughs softy.

“You said that already,” he grins faintly, replicated with the gentle expression on his face and eyes, reminding Harry exactly why he liked this boy so much. And although he’s absolutely charmed by Niall’s face, he’s also very aware that Niall’s in those small shorts that show off his toned legs that are built from solid muscle.

It’s hard to not stare at Niall’s legs and it takes Harry so much willpower to keep his eyes on Niall’s smiling face, even if his eyes really want to wander and explore Niall’s body. It’s quite obvious too, and the tiny smirk that escapes from Niall’s lips confirm this.

Harry’s breath hitches, all his doubt and fear clogging his throat.

“How have you been feeling?” Harry asks instead, through a small gulp to hide his nerves. Niall grins like Harry has made his day significantly better, which is strange because this is just Harry talking to him.

“A lot better than the last time you saw me,” Niall smiles. “I’m Irish so I’ve got a lot of fight in me,” he says playfully, through a small chuckle, and to say Harry’s enchanted would be an understatement.

His green eyes shine as he watches Niall carefully. He’s not exactly sure when his feelings began to grow into something else besides infatuation. He's been drawn to Niall since the first time he saw him attempting to play basketball, but it was never at this outstanding rate.

Perhaps it was that summer when Niall came back without his braces. Or perhaps it could’ve been that school year where Niall had dyed streaks of blond into his hair and lost some of his baby fat. Or, it could’ve been the day Niall decided to try out for track and started toning his arms into muscles that bulged each time he playfully flexed.

 _No_ , Harry thinks, glancing at Niall’s glowing face. He liked Niall but it had nothing to do with looks. Take away his handsome face from him and Harry would still be drawn to him, alarmingly so.

There were plenty of attractive people in their school - he’d even go as far as to say Louis and Liam were - but it wasn’t like that gut-wrenching feeling that spun in his gut each time he saw Niall. Never did he feel out of breath with them.

And, he certainly _never_ dreamt of sharing open mouth kisses with them as he often did with Niall, feeling him quivering and unraveling underneath Harry’s touch, as he ran his fingers through Niall’s pale body, until that annoying alarm woke him up from those pleasant dreams.

It’s so strange. Almost indescribable, Harry thinks, eyes doing a not so subtle inspection of Niall’s face, counting the faint, small freckles marked on his cheeks.

It’s so apparent that he’s looking but he’s not even trying to hide it this time.

The grin on Niall’s face falls a little as he lets out a small cough, very forced, Harry notices.

“Are you a fan?” Niall asks, voice rough.

“Of what?” Harry asks, just wanting to hear Niall’s deep voice once again.

“Track,” Niall clarifies, earnest smile on his face. “I always see you here.”

“I’m…” _a fan of you_ , Harry wants to say, but even he knows how creepy that is. He settles for something much less so. “I like it,” Harry concludes, and that sounds just about right.

Niall brightens at that, excitement entering his eyes, that Harry finds much too endearing to not return his smile.

“You should come out more,” Niall says, smiling so brightly.

“I’m usually always here,” Harry says, confused.

“I meant as in joining,” Niall clarifies, grin on his face. “We’re always looking for new members,” Niall adds, good-naturedly, but those words come as a shock to Harry, dumbstruck.

“But I’m not good at running!” he croaks.

“None of us are,” Niall shrugs, and that’s just about the biggest lie Harry’s ever heard. Niall’s excellent at running. He is the captain, after all.

Even so…Harry’s touched by the words. The fact that Niall would even ask him speaks volumes as to the person he is. He could perhaps just feel obligated to help the weird curly haired boy who’s always watching him, and could just be doing it all out of obligation for all Harry knows, but...just the fact that he’s trying to reach out means a lot. And for that, the pressure in Harry’s chest is zooming, heart swelling as he struggles to keep the redness away from his cheeks.

“I don’t think I’d be good,” is all Harry says, because this is all he can even grasp at the moment.

Niall laughs like Harry just told him a joke, as Harry’s ears welcome the beautiful sound, charmed by every part of Niall.

“You’ll never know until you try it,” Niall’s lips tug upwards into a lovely smile, secretive and soft around the edges. “That is, only if you want,” he says, using what very much appears to be Harry’s words against him, as Harry tries not to melt.

“I’ll think about it,” Harry concludes, comfortable and relaxed with Niall. This is nice, Harry thinks, watching Niall’s smiling face. Niall is nice.

“Good,” Niall grins. Harry’s expecting him to walk away and join the rest of his team but he’s just standing there, watching, with that slight smile on his face. It’s friendly and warm and everything about it is taking Harry back to that Friday afternoon, confidence swelling inside him, as he watches Niall’s lovely face.

Harry takes a small breath.

“Do you - ”

“Horan!” A loud voice calls, cutting Harry from his words, as he and Niall both turn and see the rest of the track team waiting. They’re forming their small line, showing that it’s about time for them to take off. And of course, they’re only looking at Niall, not even taking notice of Harry who’s sitting and talking to Niall. But honestly, Harry prefers it that way, because with Niall looking at him, that’s all he really needs.

“One second,” Niall call back to the boys, as they groan but wave him off, continuing last minute stretches. Harry’s greeted by apologetic eyes, as Niall turns back to look at him.

“Sorry about that. You were saying?” he asks, voice…hopeful? Or is this just Harry imagining things again? Either way, the moment is gone and both of them know it.

Harry exhales a small breath, reluctance lined up on his face.

“Nothing,” Harry says, regret building in his chest.

“Oh,” Niall hums, and Harry can swear that he’s seen that emotion before. Almost like he’s disappointed but that’s just ridiculous…right?

“I’ve gotta - ” Niall begins, but Harry waves him off.

“Go,” Harry finishes for Niall, surprised by his sudden ease, but he supposes that it’s because he’s with Niall.

Niall nods, taking a small step away from him.

“See you,” he says, before turning away as he sprints, beginning their daily run, as the rest of the track team follow him.

And this time when Niall takes one final glance at him, Harry’s not afraid to nod back.

*

“How much would you say that the track team runs a day?” Harry curiously asks Liam and Louis later that afternoon as they walk home.

Louis is blasting along to his headphones but Liam nudges him. Roughly.

“The fuck! What was that for?” Louis winces and with good reason too, because Liam lifts weights everyday, which Harry knows give him quite the left-hook. However, Liam ignores the pained expression on Louis’ face, signaling for him to remove his headphones.

“The track team,” Liam repeats. “How much do they run?”

“I think it’s about 5-7 miles a day,” Louis mutters, as he tries recovering from his pain. “Josh is always dying by the end of it.”

Fuck. That much? Harry had assumed that it was a lot but that much, really?

The color on Harry’s face leaves, as he nods in understanding.

“I see,” he says weakly.

Louis quirks a brow, eyes examining Harry’s pale face.

“Why?” he questions, forgetting about the pain his arm was in.

“Nothing,” Harry says, but it sounds so unconvincing, even to his ears.

Louis, the very persistent one of the group, hums at that, quirking a brow.

“Are you thinking about joining the track team?”

“No,” Harry says, taking a small breath. “Maybe,” he finishes much more quietly.

Louis laughs at that, as a small frown enters Harry’s face.

“What’s funny about that?” Harry questions, brows scrunching so close together.

“Have you seen yourself run? It’s horrendous,” and this is exactly like Louis. Liam however, is more cautious.

“Can we ask why the sudden interest?” He asks, voice cautious and face careful.

“I just thought it’d be nice to try,” Harry shrugs, attempting to make it sound like it’s no big deal when it is fact a huge one, pulling back the small smile that wants to escape his mouth.

“Trying, huh?” Louis asks, once he recovers from his sea of hysteria, wiping his eyes. “This wouldn’t have to do with the captain now, would it?”

“Don’t be silly,” Harry mutters, upset with himself with how defensive, rehearsed, and insincere he sounds.

“Right,” Louis grins, clearly enjoying himself, making Harry wish he could wipe that annoying smile off of his face, as he narrows his eyes.

“Leave him alone,” Liam chimes, as Harry’s tense shoulder relax from his friend’s encouraging voice. “If he says no, then it’s no.”

“I wasn’t saying anything bad,” Louis rolls his eyes, and this time turns to look at Harry’s rosy face. “He’s quite fit, actually.” Louis grins at Harry’s scarlet face.

“But don’t you think it’d just be better if you just talk to him? Sports aren’t exactly your thing.”

“This is easier,” Harry blurts, and whoops. He’s just owned up to what he’s been denying.

“Ah-ha! _I knew it_! ” Louis’ face is glowing now. “So this is about Niall!”

“It’s not about him,” Harry mumbles, through what sounds like such a lie. But even then, he won’t try to stop denying it. “I just thought it'd be a nice change.”

“A change,” Louis nudges Liam with a grin plastered on his face, teasing Harry. “I’ve heard that before,” he laughs, but Liam doesn’t budge a smile. Instead, his face is serious, like he’s pondering it.

“What?” Harry asks, defensively. “You think it’s a bad idea too?”

Liam shakes his head. “If it’s what you want, then go ahead and join."

"But do it because you want to, not because of someone else,” and if that doesn’t sound like a resounding no, Harry doesn’t know what else does.

Harry shrinks into his jumper, trying to hide himself.

“I didn’t say I was joining. I was only thinking, that’s all,” he says, voice small.

“ _Right_ ,” Louis muses, giving Liam a look as if saying, _you don’t buy this, do you?_

Liam shrugs and to Harry that’s worse than saying anything.

His friends are absolutely the worst.

*

The more Harry thinks about it, the more stupid the idea seems.

Joining track would just be for Niall, and he’s never been that type of guy.

He’d possibly hate it, if he really thinks about it - just as he’s been doing so often in his room late at night.

It probably wouldn’t even change things because Niall would just be his captain. It wouldn’t be like they would magically become friends now, would it?

 _But_ …then again…his mind tells him the exact opposite, each time he sees Niall glance his way, waving at him with a somewhat enthusiastic hand, as Harry tries his best to not come off too eager and waits a couple of seconds until returning it.

If he thinks about it this way, it wasn’t that bad.

What’s the harm in just trying? He could just perhaps go to one track meet and see if he liked it. He wasn’t exactly obligated to stay, and if he saw that it wasn’t for him, he could just leave, right?

Yes. That sounded just about right.

Perhaps, he thinks, it’d even be fun.

*

Harry tumbles into the locker room a bit out of breath with his insides threatening to spill over, extremely flustered.

He’s got one shot and he has to make this count. The last thing he was going to do was show just how nervous he was because that would have the opposite effect of what he was searching for. And, it wouldn’t look good if he really was about to go through with this - that much he’s conscious of.

Harry draws in a few breaths before whisking the curls that are covering his eyes, uncoordinated as usual, with an extra set of clothes in his bag that's to his side, as he walks. With each step he takes he notices the noise becoming clearer and louder, like loud jeers to his ears.

 _Don’t panic_ , Harry thinks, as the light from the locker rooms hit his red-tainted face.

The first thing Harry sees when he enters are the boys shirtless, but thankfully, most of them are already wearing their shorts, shielding an already embarrassed Harry from what was sure to have been more mortification, as he awkwardly lifts his gaze.

Harry takes a couple of cautious steps, freezing when he sees one of the boys, Josh, catch him there, as he quirks an eyebrow, like he’s trying to understand what the hell Harry’s even doing there. His confused face is enough to attract his attention from one of the other guys, Sandy, who turns and watches Harry with that same expression, and like dominos, each of the boys follow, looking confused as ever.

The chatter stops and they’re all looking at Harry with very questionable eyes that seem to be digging into his skin, already sending the loud thud in his chest into a chaotic beat.

Harry briefly meets eyes with Zayn Malik, who’s talking to Niall, but stops once he sees Harry - the first non-critical eyes Harry’s met since entering. Zayn nods to him politely as he nudges Niall with his shoulder, as Niall turns with that familiar smile hanging on his lips.

Once Harry’s doubt-filled green eyes meet with Niall’s blue wonder-filled eyes, Harry somehow knows that it’ll be fine.

“Can we help you?” asks Jon, quizzically looking at Harry’s face.

Harry nods, not breaking contact with Niall’s eyes.

“This is where you guys practice, right?” he asks, and by this point it’s very clear what he means.

Various of the other boys groan and let out harsh croaks, “he’s joining?” so sharp against Harry’s ears, but he’s got better things to worry about.

“Quiet,” Niall shushes them, and like the captain he is, he makes his way to Harry, slight grin on his face.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, in much softer voice, signaling that it’s only directed for them to share.

Harry shakes his head, saying, “I’m always watching you guys and I figured that I might as well give it a go.”

“But you said you hated running,” Niall points out.

Harry shakes his head lightly. “I just never saw its appeal until now,” he says, cheeks flushing, because he’s pretty sure Niall knows exactly what he means.

Niall hums at that, mused expression seething his kind face, crinkles near his eyes as he lets out that beautifully breathtaking smile that knocks the air out of Harry.

“I guess you’re one of us now, Styles,” Niall grins, and if that isn’t enough to send chills through Harry’s back, nothing is.

“I guess so,” Harry grins, returning the banter with a fond smile, as he watches Niall’s bright face.

This, Harry thinks, is something he can get used to.

*

Harry isn’t sure what he was expecting when he decided to join the track team, but one thing he can say with absolute certainty: he despises those tiny, red shorts.

Granted, this is the first meet Harry’s ever gone to as a runner, but he’s basically already decided that he absolutely hates it because of that simple article of clothing.

However, it was to be expected once Harry laid eyes on those incredibly small shorts.

“Small, aren’t they?” Niall mused as he threw the shorts into Harry’s hands, smirk firmly in place, as the redness from the shorts matched the redness from Harry’s cheeks.

“Not at all.” Harry had mumbled in an unconvincing manner, as he held them high up and observed them with his lips parted open in his shock.

Niall grinned at him like he could tell exactly what Harry was thinking, but even that bright smile wasn’t enough to dissolve the mortification Harry was in, as his mind frantically worked possible ways as to make those shorts magically grow.

It was a nightmare just seeing them, but it was infinitely worse as soon as he put them on, fabric rising close to his crotch each time he attempted to take a small step.

Sure, Harry had always figured that the shorts were small in order to allow a breeze for those unusually hot days and that their shortness made running more accessible, but what he hadn’t been counting on was just how uncomfortable they’d be, especially since he’s got rather long legs that people often confuse for girl legs - making him only a little self-conscious about wearing them.

Harry grumbles harshly underneath his breath as he fiddles with those stupid shorts for what appears to be the hundredth time, but he just can’t help it. They’re itching their way higher and higher up each time he even does a tiny movement, and he wonders how the hell he’ll even be able to run in these, as he tries to pull them down as best he can.

He’s got a tall body which doesn’t exactly help him because it makes his long legs stand out. But despite this somewhat silly dilemma, Harry’s kind of glad he’s got something else to worry about, because it’s actually serving as distraction from his raging nerves over his first run with the track team.

It’s amazing when Harry thinks about it because the mere thought would have send him into a state of panic 2 weeks ago, but look at him now. He’s here with the rest of the track team waiting to run - more concentrated on his shorts than anything else, but it’s a start.

And, the fact that Niall’s there is a huge plus. Actually, it’s the _only_ plus and only reason he’s even there, Harry thinks, eyes discreetly looking for the captain until he sees that flat blond hair in the front of the line.

Niall’s too busy talking to Jon to take notice of Harry’s expectant eyes on him, brows knitted together, as he converses in what seems to be a very intense conversation, Harry notes.

No one actually notices Harry, though, because they’re all too busy talking amongst themselves, which Harry understands perfectly.

In their eyes, he’s an outsider. He’s not even supposed to be there, or at last that’s how he feels - highlighted by the questionable glances he got when he actually bothered to show today, almost like they had thought Harry had said he’d joined as a joke.

To some extent it’s discouraging but by now, Harry’s come to accept it. He figures that it’ll possibly take some time for his presence to ever not make people shoot him confused glances, but that’s fine. He’s alright with that - just as long as Niall’s there, of course.

Harry peeps one eye and watches the way the rest of the boys are stretching - one in particular rolling his shoulders and moving his head in circular motions that looks quite frankly painful but appropriate, Harry thinks. He’s not exactly sure why the guy’s doing it, but it seems like the right thing to do so he just mirrors the action, rolling the muscles on his back, as he breathes very loudly through his mouth - an anxiety building inside him.

“Nervous?” comes a voice from behind that startles Harry, as he jumps a little when he see Zayn’s slight smile, eyes kind and warm.

“No,” Harry mutters, but it’s such a huge lie - ringing like a bigger one too. “Do I look it?” he asks, genuinely pondering if he does.

“Not really. I just figured you would be.” Zayn shrugs lightly at Harry’s quirked brow, as he stretches his arms. “Niall says you don’t like running.”

“I like it,” Harry says defensively, hating how annoyed he sounds. So he says it again. “It’s a good sport,” he says, tone much less aggressive.

“Yeah, well. I could’ve guessed that,” Zayn gives Harry a soft smile. “I always see you in practices,” he muses, comfortable vibe about him.

“You…” Harry pauses, letting the words sink in. “You see me?” Why anyone would notice him startles a bewildered Harry, but Zayn just laughs.

“Yeah,” Zayn chuckles, friendly and encouraging. “You’re the boy who’s always sitting and watching us, aren’t you?” he says, and well. That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear, but he supposes it’s better than nothing.

Despite the unpleasant feeling in Harry’s stomach and what he thinks is an embarrassing situation because really, who wants to be known as the boy who watches? -he nods.

Zayn grins widely as he hums in amusement, eyes analyzing Harry as if he’s trying to remember a name to go with the face.

“Was it…Harry?” Zayn questions, grinning at Harry’s bashful self. “That’s your name, right?”

Harry nods once again, a complete death mute.

It doesn’t bother Zayn, though. He just nods and lets out a very nice laugh.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Zayn,” He says, and this is just for formalities because Zayn must know that Harry already knows his name. But, Harry will admit that this is a nice gesture, giving Zayn a slight smile - the first one that hasn’t had to be forced.

And on cue, Harry hears a rather loud cough come from the front of the line, turning to see Niall coughing into his hand and clearing his throat rather loudly. It’s almost like…it’s directed at them?

But…that can’t be. There’s no way that was even possible, Harry thinks, quirking a brow in confusion as he observes Niall’s tense body.

Zayn smirks a little as he meets eyes with Niall and gives him a secretive smile, turning slightly to meet Harry’s face once again.

“When you run, just breathe through your nose, okay?” he advises. It takes Harry a small moment to realize that oh, that’s right. They’re supposed to be running now.

“Okay,” Harry says, fighting the urge to scream and nods in understanding, as Zayn gives him one last smile before making his way back to the front.

“Ready?” Niall asks, eyes scanning the faces of his team, until settling his eyes on Harry’s face, as if asking him only.

Harry nods eagerly as Niall’s lips tug upwards.

He doesn’t say anything else, though, because the next thing Harry knows, they’re off.

*

The mud splashes all over Harry’s black shoes as his foot crashes down on the slippery mud that’s smudging his shoes with wet dirt.

He’s breathing very labored breaths through his mouth - very much against what Zayn told him - but his nose is no longer taking the air in, as the pain in his chest begins suffocating him, pooling all the way to his stomach.

Harry lets out a cough that sounds so pained, like he’s about to explode a battered lung, but he can’t control his actions anymore. The area near his ribcage hurts and his feet ache in his brand new running shoes, as his mouth takes in harsh breaths that make his mouth dry. He feels like he’s going to fall apart at any moment, as the blood in his ears rushes to his cheeks, heartbeat thudding at an alarming speed.

They’ve been running for about 20 minutes that feel so much longer to Harry, but the only reason he knows the time span is because Niall announced it to his team, which Harry barely managed to hear because he was so far away.

He’s, of course, the last one of the group, sprinting to even try to catch up, but it’s no use. They’re too fast, too strong, too full of energy; and Harry’s just too tired.

A loud breath escapes Harry’s quivering lips, as his legs start to wiggle in his exhaustion, speed slowing down significantly. His so-called running wouldn’t even classify as running at this point because he’s basically just walking. He’s strayed back so far behind that he can’t even see the team anymore, and the thought breaks Harry.

“Fuck!” Harry groans, finally letting his emotions blast through his aching body, stopping, and it’s finally occurring to Harry, _this was a horrible idea. You’re rubbish at running._

Harry’s tired knees fall to the floor with absolutely no resistance, as he bows his head down.

The pain near his ribcage is piercing through his bloodstream, and the fiber in his body has been drained, as Harry presses his knees on the cemented cobblestone, willing those stupid tears that are bristling in his eyes to stay put, much to his surprise.

Harry never cries - not even when his grandfather passed away. Or, not even when his mother told him she was going to marry again to some stranger that invaded Harry’s life, and stole the one person he thought he’d never have to share with anyone else.

The last time Harry actually remembers crying was when his dad left them, as Harry locked himself in his room and swore that he’d never leave because it was as if his world had ended. To some extent it did, but as he came to learn, the pain dwindled with each passing day, as he built a wall to shield himself from anything else that would classify as emotionally scarring.

It’s so ridiculous if Harry thinks about it because it all just seems like a waste right now. If all of those much more painful memories weren’t enough to make him cry then, why was this? Why was he being such a child now?

_Why?_

Harry lets out a small sob as the hot angry tears prickle his beautiful green eyes, forming around his eyelashes.

Through his miserable sniffles he can’t help but think one thing: he should have just stayed on the bleachers. He shouldn’t have even tried this because look how it ended, feverish limps so numb and in pain.

Anything would be better for this. He was, in simplest terms, such an idiot, and he knew it - unpleasant feeling at the pit of his stomach, as he wallows in the bitter sensation.

“Hey.”

The voice is so soft, so gentle, so reassuring, but Harry find himself cringing against it. He can recognize it anywhere because the Irish accent is so rich that it makes his heart drop, insides twisting as the blood in his ears makes its way to his cheeks.

But, despite his embarrassment, Harry looks up with those fatigued and tired, green eyes - meeting those incredibly, caring blue ones that are shining with concern.

“ _Hey_ ,” Niall says once again, brows knitted together, as he worriedly looks at Harry’s burning face. He doesn’t even look out of breath, Harry notices, trying to swallow away his pain, as he blinks back the tears.

“Are you…” Niall hesitates, like he’s worried about hurting Harry’s pride, inhaling a small breath. “Are you okay?” he finishes cautiously.

“I’m alright,” Harry says weakly, offering Niall a soft smile. He uses what’s left in his muscles to attempt to get up with Niall still quietly watching him.

“You don’t look it,” Niall bluntly says, uneasy, as his lips purse in a tight line.

“I’m fine,” Harry repeats to reassure Niall, giving what he hopes is a more convincing smile, taking in a small breath as he stands up, forcing back the way his brows want to scrunch together.

“I just was - ” Harry begins but stops abruptly, tired feet standing still, as Niall latches his hand onto Harry’s, squeezing it with enough pressure to let Harry knows that he wants it to be reassuring.

“I…” Harry says softy but Niall squeezes again, shushing him.

“It’s alright,” Niall says in a soft voice, eyes sincere, and damn. Those tears are prickling in Harry’s again and this isn’t fair. It isn’t fair how fucking much Harry wants to cry right now.

“We’ll get there when we get there, alright?” Niall reassures Harry with a grin, easily reading every part of Harry’s face, small smile making Harry’s heart burst as his temperature climbs.

Harry wants to fight and throw out a laugh and tell him, _but I am fine, Niall. I really am._ But he’s not about to force a smile when his legs are hurting and it’s requiring so much effort keep his heart from exploding out of his chest.

And it’s because of Harry’s fatigue that he can’t even argue, as his cheeks glow underneath Niall’s strong gaze.

“Okay,” Harry says weakly, vulnerability barricading his voice, as Niall leads the way.

It’s quite possibly the slowest that Niall’s ran, almost like a snail attempting to run, but it’s at Harry’s pace, and for that Harry’s grateful.

He’s consoled by the fact that Niall runs along his side - even if he can tell that it’s so difficult for Niall to run that slowly - and despite everything else, he never leaves Harry’s side.

*

It’s a relief when they finally finish running.

It’s “only” 5 miles but Harry feels like he’s dying by the end of it, curls wet in his sweat, as he attempts whisking them, as he and Niall stand in the empty locker room. The fact that he survived it is already a win, shocking even himself that he managed to make it.

It’s also no surprise that they’re the last ones to make it back and that the rest of the track team have gone home. They took that long all because Harry slowed them down, but Niall doesn’t appear fazed by it. In fact, he’s smiling more brightly at a drenched Harry.

“First runs are always the toughest,” Niall says, as if to offer Harry encouragement, going through his bag and taking out a set of clean clothes.

“I was just like you the first time I ran,” Niall smiles softly, as Harry lets out a small sigh. He remembers watching Niall the first day he joined the track team and he was nowhere near like that. He was actually the first one to make it back, if Harry remembers correctly, sitting to rest his tired legs.

“No, you weren’t,” Harry shakes his head. “You’ve always been good. I’m the one who’s rubbish at it.”

“None of us are much good. I already told you that,” Niall frowns lightly, untying his shoelaces as he glances at Harry’s incredulous face.

“That’s easy for you to say because you actually are good,” Harry mutters, a bit angry that Niall would put himself down like that.

“I’ve had to practice,” Niall reminds him. “It took me a while before getting to this level and even then, I’m not even that good either. You’ve seen me,” he says, reminding Harry of that event he’d almost rather forget about because it’ll get his nerves singing.

“You’re still a lot better than me,” Harry concludes, and Niall laughs.

“Can’t argue with you there,” he says, and it takes Harry to realize, _oh. Niall’s joking._

He lets out a small smile as Niall smirks at him. However, that smile is shredded off Harry’s face as soon as Niall begins taking off his shirt, back facing Harry as he goes through his bag and takes out what look to be shower products.

“So, do you think you’ll stick to this?” Niall asks, but Harry hasn’t properly heard the question because Niall’s chest is bare, as his eyes count the freckles that go all around Niall’s back - infinitely better than all the times he’s dreamed about him.

“Sorry?” Harry coughs, trying to regain himself. Niall’s taking off his shoes and discarding his white socks, seemingly ignoring Harry’s gaping mouth.

“If you’ll stick to this,” he says, but it’s silly for him to repeat because Harry’s not paying attention anymore.

“The team can get a little time warming up to new people but you should be fine,” Niall smiles, hands going to the waistband of his shorts, as he drops them to the floor.

_Oh._

Niall’s naked body is here in the flesh as Harry’s cheeks ignite into a bright red, quickly averting his gaze because he’s going to explode if he keeps looking. Instead, what he does is stand, shutting both eyes to resist the temptation to look.

“They’ve never really liked me when I first started and - oh. Are you alright?” Harry hears, hand frantically searching for his bag.

“I’m fine,” Harry mutters, deciding that he’ll just come back for his bag some other time. “I’m just gonna go,” he says, bumping into a damn locker, but keeps the neutral expression on his face to not show just how much that hurt.

“You’re not even gonna shower?” Niall questions, voice confused.

“No, uh. I’ll just, uh, see you tomorrow,” Harry utters, not even turning around because it’ll be too much for him if catches another glimpse of Niall’s naked body.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Harry hears Niall’s voice echo in the room, concern ringing in his ears.

“I’m fine,” Harry calls back, cheeks flushed, as he hears Niall’s voice one last time but doesn’t make out what he’s saying, as he exits the locker room.

The fresh air hits Harry face but it does nothing to remove the giant blush on his cheeks, feeling like he’s just been hit by the sun because of how smeared they are in red.

He was certainly not fine, Harry thinks, as Niall’s naked body enters his head, so much more breathtaking than what he’s ever imagined.

He was fucked. He was beyond fucked, he thinks, blushing all the way home, not even caring that he’s still wearing those shorts because, _wow._

Shorts were the least of his problems.

*

“So how’d your first practice go?” Louis calls later that night, but it seems more like teasing because of the mischief in his voice, and he must already know by now because it’s obvious. Harry’s so bad with sports.

“You know what? It was alright,” Harry says, but even as he says it, he winces in pain as he attempts to sit down on his bed, knowing he’s in store for so much more pain tomorrow because his legs will be extra sore.

Louis lets out a small chuckle and even if Harry can’t see him, he knows he’s smirking.

“That’s not what I heard,” Louis muses, voice playful. “Josh said you were dying.”

“I wasn’t,” Harry frowns, letting out a small cry when he lifts his legs too quickly into the bed. “I’ll be better tomorrow,” he mutters.

“Right,” Louis chuckles, amused. “That’s what they all say.”

“I guess so.” Harry lets out a small sigh as he rests his head against the pillow, memories of the afternoon so present in his mind. Louis must be able to tell something’s off because he stops chuckling.

“I was only joking,” Louis says, voice a lot more concerned. “Don’t take it to heart.”

“I know that,” Harry mutters, voice shaky. “I’m just starting to think that this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Why not?” Louis questions. “You seemed fine with it.”

“I don’t think the track team likes me very much,” Harry admits. He hates how small his voice comes out but it’s impossible to avoid, because of the surge of doubt that's running through his body.

“They don’t know you, Harry,” Louis groans, but his voice is still quite gentle.

“That doesn’t matter. They still look at me funny,” Harry says, suddenly nervous with the memory of those judgmental eyes on him.

“Because you’re the new guy on the team that they thought hated sports,” Louis tells him, words ripping into Harry. “It’ll just take some time for them to get used to you.”

“I suppose,” Harry sighs, not entirely convinced, but he’d rather end this conversation now because it’ll make him admit to more than he wants to.

Harry lets his eyes close as he keeps the phone close to his ear.

Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting the track team to greet him with open arms. He knew that it wasn’t going to be like that, but he was kind of hoping that they at least wouldn’t look at him so strangely. That they wouldn’t question him with their eyes each time he did something.

Niall and Zayn seemed to be exceptions, but even so…Harry feels like Niall’s just being nice out of obligation because Harry helped him. That perhaps he’s just doing it to repay Harry and not because he wants to. And it’s precisely this thought that drills a fear in Harry’s head, as his fingers squeeze his phone, wincing widely.

“Harry? You still there?” calls Louis’ soft voice.

Harry shakes his head and inhales a small breath, faking a small smile.

“I’m here,” Harry says quietly. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Alright,” Louis hums, as a small pauses ensues, before speaking once again.

“Ice packs,” Louis simply says.

“Sorry?” Harry quirks a brow.

“Ice packs. They always help soothe the pain,” Louis offers, and although he’s sometimes a sarcastic prick, this caring and thoughtful side of Louis was exactly why they were such good friends.

Harry smiles into his phone, mumbling, “night, Louis,” hanging up shortly. He lies on his back and although he’s tired and really could use the sleep, he doesn’t. He’s still very enchanted by Niall because the memory of Niall’s naked body is still very much present in his head, and now that he’s seen it in person, he wants nothing more than to see it again.

Perhaps it’s a bit weird and strange to be thinking of it that way but it’s so toxic and undeniable. Harry can no longer help it, cheeks flushing as he falls into a sleep that’s sure to be filled with Niall’s body against his.

*

Just as expected, Harry’s legs are killing him the next day.

He can’t even sit properly and has to use his arms to hold onto anything in order to maintain his balance each time he attempts to walk, and his legs jiggle each time he bends over to tie his shoe, that he almost wishes that he could leave it untied.

His pain is just not a convenient situation to be in. And it’s just because of this excruciating pain that it almost seems like a no brainer to skip track practice.

 _Just for today_ , Harry tells himself, wincing once he realizes that he’s left his bag in his locker room and needs his history book to study, eliminating his plans to be coy about it.

However, he brightens when he comes up with a different solution.

He’ll just wait, he decides. He’ll wait until the track team leaves to avoid more judgmental looks because he’s too tired to deal with that today. He’ll avoid it for today, and who knows? Maybe, he’ll try running tomorrow, he thinks, but at this point he’s just trying to fool himself to feeling less bad about giving up.

He’d just rather wait on that because he hates picturing Niall and his blue eyes watching him with disappointment. He could face the rest but that’s the part he can’t, so he’ll just wait.

Harry keeps a close eye on the track team starting their daily run, hiding as best he can, but it’s not like it matters because he’s practically invisible to them, he thinks. He just waits a couple more minutes before creeping into the locker room, taking his time to gather his things because his legs are killing him right now.

“Fuck,” Harry winces as he drops his shorts to the ground, wincing all the way as he bends over to pick them up.

“You aren’t running today?” Harry hears, and shit. He turns quickly to see Niall watching him closely.

“I have a doctor’s appointment,” he lies, noting how lame of an excuse that is.

Niall nods in understanding. “I see,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to understand what Harry’s saying.

“I just wanted to pick this up before…” _you got back_ , Harry wants to say, but Niall’s intense gaze silences him. His eyes trace every part of Harry’s face and Harry knows that he’s been caught.

“You’re quitting, aren’t you?” Niall asks, voice stern.

Harry wants to deny it but he can’t because what good would that do? He just nods lightly, adding, “I just don’t think running’s for me.”

“Not for you,” Niall repeats, humming to himself.

Harry nods once again. “I’m not a runner.”

Niall doesn’t say anything to this. He just continues nodding, mind looking like it’s elsewhere, expression neutral. It’s not the reaction Harry had been expecting but either way, it makes him uneasy, realizing he needs to leave now, putting his bag to his side.

Niall’s eyes go back to Harry’s face as he tilts a brow, but Harry ignores it because he’ll chicken out if he continues paying attention to it.

“I’ll see you,” Harry says, offering Niall a small smile, heart pounding loudly because he knows that this is it. He doesn’t even wait for a response from Niall as he starts walking, startled when Niall speaks up.

“I can help you,” he says, and whoa. That wasn’t the response Harry envisioned, turning to meet Niall’s serious face, mouth ajar.

“How?” Harry croaks, voice wobbly.

“We can run together,” Niall offers, not breaking his expression to show Harry that he’s not joking.

“I’d only slow you down,” Harry utters, heat rising to his cheeks.

Niall shakes his head. “I don’t mind. You’re my teammate. It’s really the least I can do,” he says, as the ball in Harry’s stomach tightens, because, he just can’t believe it. He can’t believe Niall would go this far. _For him_.

His mouth is gaping and it’s embarrassing, to be honest, but his mind can’t work why Niall would do this. He’s always heard great things about Niall, but he assumed that not everything was true. That perhaps Niall wasn’t as nice as everyone made him out to be, but this - this right here - it’s a huge testament that he is. He really is.

Harry licks his lips quickly, as he clears the lump in his throat.

“I don’t know if I'll be any good,” Harry says softly, voice hoarse, as Niall’s lips tug upwards because it sounds like a very clear,  _alright._

“I’m not expecting you to be. I just think you should stay,” Niall says, offering a smile, as Harry’s heart jumps and struggles to keep a steady rhythm. His eyes are shinning now, letting himself become vulnerable, as he fondly watches Niall’s face.

“Why?” Harry asks, voice deep.

“Why what?” Niall asks, tone reflecting the same emotions that Harry’s been longing to hear.

“Why are you bothering with me?” Harry questions, unable to stop that grin on his face.

Niall smiles at that, warm and kind. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just too hard-headed when I put my mind to it,” he says, and there it is. That wonderful red tainting Niall’s skin that Harry wants to see in every context. Whether it just be making Niall blush by telling him how lovely he is, or whether it be from his excitement from Harry trailing kisses down his neck - that’s all he wants to see.

“So what do you say?” Niall asks, bringing Harry back to his surrounding, noting how red Niall’s cheeks, going all the way to the roots of his hair.

But, Harry just grins because he knows he’s got him.

“Okay,” Harry says, soft smile on his face, smirking when Niall squirms underneath his gaze.

*

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry breathes harshly through his swollen lips, mouth wobbling with the unsteady emotions seeping down his throat. His pupils are blown and he’s panting, breaking down underneath Niall’s body.

“So…” he pauses, voice hoarse, swallowing down the loud moan that wants to burst through his mouth, as he tightly threads his fingers through Niall’s soft, blond hair - like smooth velvet in his hands.

 “This is what you meant when you said _practice_ ,” Harry groans in pleasure, as Niall continues peppering Harry’s neck with light kisses, full with intent and urgency, warm lips electrocuting Harry.

Harry shivers against Niall’s strong arms but arches himself up from his bed - desperate to feel more of Niall’s lips on him. He’s always suspected that Niall’s good with his mouth, but this just puts things into a whole new perspective, breath hitching at the way Niall nibbles his skin, wet and hot.

“We are practicing,” Niall breathes in hard, as his flushed body hovers over Harry’s, muscles on his biceps straining as he uses a steady arm to carry his weight over Harry’s writhing body.

“Doesn’t - ” Harry chokes out, fighting to regain his breath when Niall sinks his teeth into the sensitive area near his neck. “Doesn’t seem like it,” he finishes weakly, sighing when Niall places a soothing kiss where he’s just bitten Harry.

“We’re building your stamina,” Niall tells him, but it comes out muffled because his lips are buried in Harry’s throat.

“ _Right_ ,” Harry chuckles through his breathless state. “Stamina,” he hums, humoring Niall, rubbing small circles on Niall’s scalp.

Niall skirts his lips away from Harry’s neck, lips wet and swollen, as he tugs his way back to Harry’s lips.

“That’s what I’m calling it,” he whispers against Harry’s lips, rocking his hips against Harry’s groin, creating an undeniable friction that elicits another moan from Harry, chest heaving up as he struggles to find a steady rhythm because he feels like his heart’s about to burst.

“Do you hate it?” Niall teases, his warm breath hitting Harry’s face as their lips lightly brush. His hair is ruffled after being tangled in Harry’s fingers and his cheeks are so rosy - even more beautiful than what Harry could’ve ever imagined. He’s spent so much time watching every part of Niall’s face, learning every single facial expression possible, but it doesn’t even compare to how lovely it is from up close.

Harry fondly gazes at Niall’s red cheeks, taking in every detail on his face.

“No,” he admits, running the pad of his fingers around Niall’s cheeks, fingertips tracing his faint freckles, as Niall melts into his touch. Harry smirks but pulls Niall’s lips back to his with his strong hands, sharing another open mouth kiss.

It’s slow and tedious, as Niall hums into their kiss, and Harry savors the heat and the scent that’s so uniquely Niall, hands making their way to Niall’s back to press their flushed bodies close again.

Their frantic breaths echo in the tiny room and the temperature soars with each kiss they exchange, as Harry’s excitement runs through every part of his veins. He’s moaning embarrassingly loud but Niall’s swallowing it with his kisses, loving the vibration he feels on Harry’s lips, lacing his fingers in Harry’s curls.

Niall bites Harry’s bottom lip as his hands pull at Harry’s locks but disconnects their lips shortly, bare chest flushed into the same bright redness on his face as his eyes bore into Harry - brimming with a craving.

“What do you want?” Niall asks, trying to decipher every detail that runs through Harry’s red-stained cheeks.

 _Everything_ , Harry thinks, and since this is so real and finally, finally, _finally_ what he’s been waiting for, he doesn’t hesitate anymore.

“Everything,” he groans, possibly coming off too desperate and embarrassingly eager, but his whole body is unraveling with desire.

Niall smirks at that, softly pushing Harry back to the comforters of his bed, eyes shinning with mischief.

“Alright,” Niall grins, and if Harry wasn’t so turned on, he’d hate the arrogant way Niall’s eyes watch his face - like he knows he’s got Harry at his expense. But before he can say anything, Niall bows his head down to Harry’s chest.

It’s slightly annoying the way Harry can feel Niall’s lips smirk against his skin, but he appreciates that Niall’s mouth is on him, trailing kisses down Harry’s chest and to his stomach - making Harry forget exactly why he hated that smirk, hands tugging at Niall’s head to keep going.

Niall chuckles softly but lets Harry’s hands guide him, tactfully taking his time to run his tongue over every curve of Harry’s body as he holds onto his hips. Harry’s toes curl as he tightens his grip on Niall’s hair, but refrains himself from pushing him, chest pounding loudly right when Niall pauses in front of his very big erection.

“Gorgeous,” Niall says, voice faint, like he’s saying it more to himself than to Harry, as Harry’s face tingles from his blush.

“I’m not.” He mutters but Niall waves it off, sighing in approval as he fiddles with the waistband of Harry’s white boxers, half-heartedly lowering them but stopping each time. He’s got that smirk back on as he lowers his head between Harry’s legs but pauses again, fingers digging at Harry’s side as he playfully tugs at the material from the waistband of his boxers.

He knew exactly what he was doing to Harry.

Harry clenches his hands into a tight fist of anger.

“Stop doin - _oh!_ ”

The words die on Harry’s lips because Niall’s hands are on him again, gently stroking at his cock over his boxers, pumping him in a beautiful rhythm.

Harry lets out a couple of swears as Niall’s hand pause briefly, but lets out a broken moan when Niall’s hand goes underneath the thin fabric from his boxers.

“Like that?” Niall grins, squeezing Harry’s cock, as Harry suppresses another moan and just nods, urgency to feel Niall’s hands on him building with each stroke Niall gives.

“Harry,” Niall moans, movements becoming sloppier but speed picking up. Harry hums out a small cry, throat clogged with desire.

“Harry,” Niall says again, except this time, that’s not Niall’s voice.

“Harry,” comes a more feminine voice, as Harry's red lips part open in surprise.

_What the…?_

“Harry!” the voice is more urgent, as Harry opens his eyes, the sound of a loud knock startling him to his core.

_Shit._

“Harry, wake up! You’ll be late for your run,” calls his mother, and fuck. That’s just about the last person’s voice he wants to hear when he’s got a tent in his boxers.

“Okay,” Harry replies in a shaky voice, praying for the door to stay closed to save him from sheer humiliation.

She doesn’t even attempt to open the door, though, much to Harry’s relief, as he hears the footsteps become more distant.

Harry awkwardly lies on his back with his erection shooting straight up, as he ponders why, why, _why_ couldn’t his reality be close to his dreams? Why couldn't he ever be graced with what he wanted? But most especially, why was he such a coward whenever it came to Niall?

Harry lets out a miserable breath as he turns to his side.

Well. One things certain, though. After seeing Niall’s naked body in the locker room, he’s got a lot of material to get rid of this inconvenient situation, lazily getting out of bed to take care of business once more.

*

Harry’s got various reasons to be angry.

It’s 6am, it’s a Saturday, he’s freezing cold, he hasn’t had any proper sleep, and to top it off, he was woken up from his very enjoyable dream in an abrupt manner.

But, despite this anger that floods through Harry’s blood vessels, it all evaporates once he sees Niall stretching as he waits for him near the front of the gate - standing out in his red shorts and zipped-up black, rain resistant jacket. He’s got his headphones on, lips pressed together, but smiles once he sees Harry, warm and welcoming - just like Niall.

Harry returns the smile weakly, letting out a shaky, worried breath, as he tries not averting his gaze because the memory of Niall moaning his name is at the top of his mind - glorious and the only thing he wants to replay, but so awkward to think about with Niall here in the flesh.

What Harry does instead is channel that anxiety into his anger over being woken up so early, resulting in a small pout on his lips.

Niall notices of course, watching the curve of Harry’s lips, humming in amusement, but smiles nonetheless.

“You don’t look too happy to be here,” Niall chuckles, and the noise is so damn contagious that it’s enough for a very grumpy Harry to let out a somewhat reluctant grin, as he waits for Niall to let out another laugh that will inevitably come out of his mouth because this is Niall after all.

“Wow. You really _don’t_ look happy,” Niall laughs (on cue) as Harry tries to keep the pout on his face, more or less because it amuses Niall, and he just wants to hear Niall laugh again.

“It’s a Saturday,” Harry says dryly, because that should really explain his annoyance. No one in their right mind would even get up at 6 in the morning to run, and Harry’s quite daft for being there, but Niall’s to blame.

“And what better way than to spend it running?” Niall muses, lips quivering like he’s trying to hide his laughter, and this could possibly be the first time Harry doesn’t appreciate seeing that because it’s coming out of his misery.

“If you say so,” Harry grumbles, as Niall lets out another loud laugh, grin pulling out from the corner of his mouth.

“Cheer up, Styles. I’ll buy you breakfast after,” Niall quips, as the muscles on Harry’s face slacken. He’s still pretty cross to be there this early, but the thought of spending his morning eating breakfast with Niall didn’t sound that bad. He’s dreamt about it on various occasions (usually in a bedroom setting) but he supposes this could also be nice.

“Yeah, you will,” is Harry’s only response, as Niall shakes his head in disapproval, but grins like Harry’s just made his day.

“Deal, Styles,” Niall says, hopeful, as if he really, really wants to take Harry out to breakfast. But before Harry can come up with some witty, playful remark, Niall turns away and runs, leaving Harry to sprint after him.

*

Running is easy at this pace. It’s not too fast but not too slow, challenging Harry in a way where he feels he’s not breaking a lung. And to him, that’s already a huge accomplishment.

He probably won’t be able to walk the next day because he still hasn’t developed the proper legs that all runners seem to be blessed with, and it’s costing him twice the normal amount of energy it would for someone like Niall; but he’s getting there. Slowly, out of breath, and stupidly choked up by the end of it, but he’s getting there.

Although, Harry’s noticing that an even bigger problem besides his speed is ensuing because it’s Niall who’s getting tired.

His breathing is out of control, his face is smeared in red, and Harry can tell he’s frustrated because the more he tries to control it, the more it spirals, as the irked expression on Niall’s faces rings all the way to his eyes.

It’s not exactly anything that would classify as dangerous, but because Harry knows that Niall’s got asthma, his shoulders are tense and his chest aches with each light cough that seethes through Niall’s lips, sharp and edgy. The terror doesn’t fail to ignite on Harry’s flushed face because, oh boy. He’s heard that before.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just keeps a watchful eye on Niall, decreasing his speed in the fear that Niall will overwork his body, glad to hear Niall’s coughing decrease dramatically.

And it’s when they finally make their way back to the school gates that Harry relaxes, more relieved for Niall’s sake than his because Niall finally catches his breath, straining himself in the effort, but breathing nonetheless.

“Good run?” Niall questions, his voice hitching. Harry frowns on instinct but his eyes soften when he catches the way Niall’s eyes shine.

“Right?” Niall asks, not like he wants to know but more or less for reassurance, as if asking, _I was good, wasn’t I?_

“It was perfect,” Harry tells Niall through his rosy cheeks, when in fact he actually means _you were perfect,_ as he nods, trying hard to be strong for Niall but on the verge of caving.

Niall smiles appreciatively at Harry, the hesitation reflecting in his face as he reads Harry with his eyes.

 _You always are_ , is on the tip of Harry’s lips, but he only smiles it away, causing Niall to visibly relax, tense shoulders slumping down.

“Good,” is all Niall says, leading the way to the locker room with Harry closely following.

They don’t speak as they make way inside, but in some way that silence is exactly what they both need, comfortable and nice.

 

*

Harry’s thankful, anxious, and confused.

He’s thankful because despite his somewhat awkward stature as he sat and stared at his feet, Niall must’ve read Harry’s frigid and lifeless posture correctly because he offered to leave Harry alone in the locker room to shower with the excuse of making a phone call. But even Harry knew that was a huge, dumb lie because Niall’s just being nice again. However, that gratitude evaporated rapidly once he heard Niall’s next words.

“My mother’s taking us to breakfast,” Niall said, and wow. It took Harry a moment to realize what he meant before biting his bottom lip in worry because shit. _He was meeting Niall’s mother?_

Not in some formal meeting in which he could just say his name and run off, but in a much more constricting one in which he had to talk to her and _fuck_. That’s how the plummeting in Harry’s chest began, disguising it will a smile as he said, “okay,” when he really meant, _fuck. I’m dead._

And it’s precisely this that’s led to his current state. With his beating heart that won’t stop pounding now, and his sweaty palms shaking uncontrollably, waiting for Niall’s mother to pick them up.

Niall is fiddling with his phone, and it’s perhaps this reason why he hasn’t noticed Harry’s strained face, or how the color has left his cheeks - about to break down at any moment.

It’s uncontrollable and Harry’s crumbling, wondering if it’s perhaps too late to make some excuse, like he’s busy or that he forgot he made some promise to his mother and has to go home early. But that would just be silly, wouldn’t it?

He’s old enough to make his decisions and generally his mother is fine with that, just as long as Harry isn’t out getting wasted in the middle of the night, which coincidentally never happens.

Harry’s too awkward in those situations, ironic because Liam and Louis like to spend their Saturday nights taking a shot or two with a lemon and salt to the side to kill the sting in their throats; but Harry’s not like that.

He’s calm and reserved with most things but unfortunately deteriorates whenever it comes to Niall, squeezing his fingers as his mind works furiously.

A thought comes to Harry’s head as he opens his mouth to object, but then Niall glances at him and everything goes blank, his mouth hanging open. It’s meant to be quick and perhaps meaningless glance from Niall, but he does a double take, eyes locking in at Harry’s flushed face, like he’s caught onto Harry’s concerns.

“You’ll like her,” Niall says, but it sounds more like “she’ll like you,” soft and reassuring Harry in every way. It’s his soothing tone that relieves some of the tension on Harry’s shoulders and back, nodding in understanding.

It feels so strange because it’s just Niall’s mother. Niall’s not even anything his, Harry realizes. He’s got no claim on him, so why is he acting like this? With those flushed cheeks and wide, wonder-filled eyes, but the answer is given when Niall turns to smile at him, as the thud in Harry’s heart catapults.

 _That’s why_ , he thinks, but returns the smile, as Niall grins but whisks his head away, smile increasing even more as his lovely blue eyes see a white car.

He doesn’t even have to say anything for Harry to know that it’s his mother, following Niall with so much uncertainty, but letting Niall guide him as they make their way inside the car.

 

*

Maura, Harry concludes, is nice.

From the get go he can tell, calling her Mrs. Horan, only for her to tell him, “call me Maura, dear.” To which Niall retaliated, “Maura makes her feel young,” as Maura shook her head, but with a fond smile that was reciprocated by Niall.

From what Harry can see, they have a close relationship, sharing a playful banter, without excluding Harry, as he thinks to himself, _this is really nice._

He’s still a bit bashful about the situation because this is Niall’s mother and he wants to make a good impression, but it’s getting to the point where he feels comfortable enough to jump in a say some playful remark that earn him a smile from both Maura and Niall - not looking forced in the slightest. It makes the pressure in Harry’s chest swell each time because Niall’s smile is of pure adoration, but Harry pushes it down, hiding it behind his napkin.

They’re currently at a diner (quite the novelty in London) that’s very family-oriented, and from what Harry learns, it’s Niall’s favorite.

It makes sense once Harry glances at the menu because there are 36 different plates options that come with bright pictures, that all look very appetizing to Harry. But being the guy that he is, Harry orders the most basic one. However, upon Maura’s insistence he ends up changing it at the last minute and gets the special. Orange juice, scrambled eggs, hash brown, toast, and pancakes - all very American.

“Thanks,” Harry says, when the waitress brings him his toast. He swats a messy curl out of his eyes, and it’s when he turns back that Maura’s gentle eyes greet him, signaling him that here come the questions.

“Niall says you just joined the track team,” Maura says, but it’s more or less a statement, and Harry just nods.

“About a week ago,” he says, offering a slight smile. He’s really only ran twice, but he’ll just ignore that for now.

Maura nods politely as the waitress brings 2 glasses of orange juice and a coffee mug.

“How do you like it so far?” she asks, smiling at the waitress in a polite manner.

“It’s…” Harry pauses, contemplating his response. He meets Niall’s eyes, noting the faint curiosity in them too. “It’s different than what I was expecting,” he goes with, because that’s about right. It is very different than what he thought.

Maura nods in understanding but Harry knows that she’s still got a lot more questions in her.

“What were you expecting?” Maura gently asks, watching Harry closely, but Harry’s more focused on the way Niall’s discreetly edging towards his seat, as if waiting Harry’s response.

“I don’t know. I just thought there’d be more events,” Harry admits, and Niall chuckles at that.

“We have one this week, you know,” Niall grins, fond smile on his face.

“We do?” Harry asks, voice rising various octaves. When he said he thought there’d be more events he was actually expressing gratitude, not disappointment. He had thought he had saved himself for at least a couple of weeks, jaw tightening as he swallows loudly.

Niall doesn’t even notice, though. His eyes are shinning again, unable to contain his excitement.

“On Thursday,” Niall grins, meeting Harry’s eyes. However, his smile drops a little when he hears his mother clear his throat.

“Have you been cleared?” she asks, concern in her voice.

Niall’s jaw tenses and averts his gaze as takes out his phone, like he’s trying to let the words not get to him, but nods.

“The nurse said I was fine,” he says as he looks at his phone. But something about that sounds off, almost insincere, Harry notices.

Harry tilts a brow as Maura apologetically turns to meet his eyes.

“Niall’s got asthma. We always worry that he’s going to overdue things because he’s so stubborn sometimes,” she says fondly, taking a small glance at Niall, who’s still looking at his phone. “But he’s been better as of late. He’s had no attacks,” she smiles, as Harry flinches at the words.

She hasn’t....

The ball in Harry's stomach clutches, mouth going dry.

“But - ”

“Here are your orders,” says the waitress, cutting Harry off.

“There service is always fast here,” Maura tells Harry, smiling brightly at the waitress, as Harry’s lips purse into a straight line.

He whisks his head to see Niall’s no longer on his phone but looking straight at him. He’s got a neutral expression but his eyes are silently pleading with Harry.

“You were saying, dear?” Maura asks, looking at Harry’s face.

Harry parts his lips and takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do, but because Niall’s eyes are on him, he just can't.

“Nothing,” he finishes reluctantly. Maura nods in confusion but smiles anyways.

“Enjoy,” she says brightly, digging her fork into her hash browns.

“Thank you,” Harry says, and despite the fact that there’s a happy face on his pancakes, he frowns.

 

*

Harry doesn’t sleep that night. He’s got mixed emotions in his chest that are all due to one person: Niall.

Harry certainly feels glad to have helped Niall in some way, but he then there's the realization that Niall hasn’t told anyone - not even his mother.

Sure, Harry knows why Niall’s been hiding it and he could understand that Niall’s love for the sport is driving him to do this, but Niall’s in no position to be running and they both know it. At least not until he’s cleared, Harry concludes, as his mind lingers onto these thoughts well into the morning when his alarm rings.

Harry frowns when he hits the off button, reminding him that he’s got to go run now, but he winces even more when he realizes that Niall will be running with him. He can’t cancel it though, because he doesn’t even have Niall’s number, he realizes, gingerly putting his shorts and socks on.

It would be too suspicious, too, and Niall’s smart enough to see through Harry’s lies, he thinks, as his heavy feet exit his house and make their way to school.

But, still.

It’s very strange when he sees Niall doing last minute warm ups with that serious expression because this is Niall. Niall’s always smiling.

Harry takes a breath as he watches the way Niall concentrates on getting the count right, but it diminishes when Harry catches his eyes, lips pressed together in a line as he forcibly tugs them up. There’s an uncertainty in his eyes and he doesn’t exactly look thrilled to see Harry, but it’s to be expected after yesterday’s events.

Harry doesn’t say anything, though. He really wants to but he’s afraid that if he does, it’ll just make this even more complicated. So he just smiles and obliges when Niall starts to run, movements a bit more restless than usual.

It’s a lot faster than yesterday but Harry’s keeping up quite well, more concerned with Niall’s well being than his own, as he shadows Niall’s steps.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been running because he’s a bit more focused on the way Niall’s breathing has become more frantic, and the way his face is flushing into a deep red, like he’s overworking himself, but he stays silent because he doesn’t want to agitate Niall when he’s clearly working himself up already.

The whole situation is very familiar as the pressure in Harry’s chest soars, listening carefully to the faint coughs that are coming out of Niall’s mouth, who’s no longer breathing through his nose and using his mouth to let out very audible gasps of air.

Harry’s jaw tenses because he’s seen this before, mind trying to come up with a suitable way to tell Niall to stop without being overbearing or too pushy, but then…

Niall does. Except it’s exactly what Harry’s been fearing, watching a fatigued Niall gasp out as his lungs try to find air that Harry knows isn’t there.

“U-ugh,” Niall manages to choke out through his unstable breaths, as his hands clasp the areas near his chest, face pained.

Harry’s cheeks flush, hand reaching out to Niall but Niall’s come prepared this time. His hand makes its way to the pocket of his jacket, quivering with sloppy movements, but managing to unzip the zipper, taking out that small blue inhaler that he pushes in his mouth without hesitation. And it’s once he does, that it stops.

He’s breathing again, the muscles on his face are loosening, and the cherry, red on his face is dwindling - all like it was never even there. The only thing that remains the same is the way Harry’s heart is pounding, fear etched in his eyes, with his lips pressed together.

He’s watching Niall closely, only this time he’s not admiring him. The relief isn’t there anymore because the dots are connecting in his head, as Niall takes one final breath through his inhaler and meets his eyes.

“What?” Niall defensively questions, the first time Harry’s ever heard him talk to him like that, as he tilts a brow.

“How long have this been happening?” Harry asks, face deadpan.

“You mean my attacks?” Niall mutters, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

Harry nods but Niall still sees it because he’s watching him from the corner of his eyes.

“I’ve always had them,” Niall says, like it’s no big deal, but he’s not fooling anyone. Harry knows that but most importantly, Niall knows that too.

“But…” Harry hesitates, trying to find some strength. “You’re not cleared.”

“I don’t need to be. I can control it, Harry,” Niall says, looking at Harry to give him a faint smile, but Harry isn’t budging this time. He’s watching Niall carefully with a blank face, eyes reading him clearly.

“What?” Niall asks, only this time his voice is more careful and small.

Harry takes a breath, trying to craft the sentence in his head as Niall nervously watches.

“I just don’t think you should be running,” Harry finally says.

“I’m fine, Harry,” Niall says, slight irritation etched in his voice.

“You aren’t, Niall,” Harry tells him, eyes begging. “You can’t run like this. It’s not safe,” he pleads, desperate to get through Niall’s stubborn facade.

“I’m telling you I can control it,” Niall mutters through a clenched jaw, but face screaming that he knows it’s a lie.

“I don’t want to see you hurt yourself,” Harry says, voice cracking, and there it is. The red on Niall’s face is back, except this time, it’s in anger, shaking his head. His posture is broken and he’s tense, avoiding Harry’s gaze with a passion, as he takes a large breath that up until a couple of moments ago, wasn’t there.

“I’m going to run, Harry. If you want to join me, feel free to join me. If not, that’s fine too,” and for Niall, those are harsh words.

“But - ” Harry says, but is cut off when Niall turns, back facing Harry.

And despite saying that he’s going to run, he doesn’t. He walks, slowly, dragging his feet, and with tense shoulders, but he walks.

And it’s because Harry knows that there’s nothing he can do to stop him that he doesn’t. He just watches. He _only_ watches.

*

“Can I talk to you?” Harry asks a sweaty Louis that Monday afternoon, unable to control the way his hands are twitching from the anxiety residing in his chest.

Louis tilts a brow in confusion but nods nonetheless as Harry sighs in relief, leading Louis away from the tennis court and onto one of the benches, away from the loud thud of the rackets hitting the tennis balls.

Louis is wearing white shorts and a aqua blue polo shirt that seem to be typical of a tennis player at their school, while Harry’s wearing his black wool jacket with a small blue beanie over his mop of curls. But, despite the fact that there’s a light breeze from the lush trees, he’s sweating underneath the collar of his plain white t-shirt, a loud pounding that won’t stop no matter how hard he tells his heart to stop doing that.

It takes Harry a moment to recover the chaotic way his heart is beating, but it’s a bit useless because when he turns back he sees Louis’ blue eyes on him, kind and gentle, but sharp and absorbing the way there’s a small amount of sweat forming around Harry’s forehead.

“So…” Louis breaks the silence, humming, mused expression on his face. “What’s this about?” he questions, voice calm.

Harry takes in a small breath, legs jiggling up and down as his hands twist hard on his lap.

“I just - _fuck._ ” He pauses, face flushed. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he utters, soft and shaky with so many unwanted emotions.

Louis doesn’t flinch at Harry’s wavering voice. He just nods lightly, eyes shining with sympathy, like he’s already anticipating what’s about to come.

“Just say it,” Louis smiles softly, encouraging and sincere.

Harry stills at that. The pressure in his throat is pounding and he feels tongue-tied, but Louis’ eyes are gentle, letting Harry know that he’ll be there for him, regardless of what’ll come out of his mouth.

Harry nods slowly, taking a breath once again, the pressure near his chest and throat dwindling, as he parts his trembling lips.

“I like Niall,” Harry says, coming out so meek and wobbly, but Louis hears him. He certainly does because he’s bursting in satisfaction.

“I fucking called this shit! Fuck, Liam owes me money,” he remarks with glee, as Harry narrows his eyes, posture stiff and rigid.

“Oh,” Louis clears his throat when he meets the harshness in Harry’s eyes. “Sorry,” Louis mutters apologetically and puts on a serious face. “So you like Niall. What’s the problem?”

“He doesn’t like me,” Harry mutters, bitter taste of dread in his tongue.

“And you know this how?” Louis says, eyes mildly condescendingly judging Harry. “Have you even asked?”

“Of course not! What type of person does that?” Harry croaks, voice incredulous and heavy with disbelief.

“I did that with Liam,” Louis frowns, a bit more defensive now.

“But that’s you. I’m not like that,” Harry says, mildly critical, catching the wicked smile appear on Louis’ face.

“Which is why you’ll never get laid,” Louis counters, tone teasing, as his slight smile glows brightly.

Harry scoffs at that and purses his lips but remains silent. Even if Louis was an annoying prick with such a loud mouth, Harry will admit that he had a point. A rather silly and annoying point, but it was a good one nonetheless, as Harry visibly sulks, jaw tightening along with his posture.

Louis’ face has softened as he lets out a sigh, nudging Harry gently, not even backing down when he sees the heat of Harry’s glare.

“Niall’s a nice guy. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way he won’t tell anyone,” Louis offers for encouragement, but Harry’s face falls at the word if.

“Even _if_ ,” Harry mumbles, words like bullets to his already aching chest.

“Yeah, even if,” Louis says, the solid bone from his shoulder hitting Harry’s bicep. “He’s a nice guy, Harry.”

“And a stubborn one,” Harry mutters, face flushing with anger from remembering Niall’s stupidity and the way he glared at Harry - a way he’s never ever looked at him before. And it wasn’t the way Harry had been longing to see either, hand going to the area near his chest, pounding against his hand rough.

“Hey,” Louis nudges Harry once again, eyes scanning his face carefully. “Is there something else you want to talk about?” Louis questions, voice hitching with curiosity.

It takes Harry a moment before responding, realizing what Louis has just asked him.

“No,” Harry lies, shaking head. He knows what he should be doing and could concede that he himself was acting foolish, but despite what he thinks is stubborn behavior from Niall - despite every single thing that’s wrong with this - Harry still finds himself wanting to be that support system.

Niall’s clearly not making the right choices by hiding his asthma attacks and overworking himself, but he’s been nothing but nice to Harry since joining - with the exception of that Sunday morning, in which his cold, harsh eyes hurt more than the anger in his voice.

But…besides everything else, he’s been kind and always seemed to worry about Harry’s well being and took five extra steps to make sure he was okay, almost like he’s been watching after Harry through this chaotic journey.

And put aside that Sunday, Niall’s got a sweetness that only belonged to him and distinguished him from anyone Harry’s ever met - with a warmth in his eyes that shine each time he sees Harry’s face.

It’s those memories that make Harry’s heart swell each time his mind goes to the boy with blue eyes and blond hair. It’s those memories that make him feel an overwhelming amount of protection for someone who will probably never acknowledge his own feelings, but nonetheless, he’s someone who should always be happy, Harry decides.

Harry exhales a loud breath that hitches once he turns to see Louis watching him closely.

“What?” Harry asks, a bit defensively. He’s blushing now, face smeared in red, and it’s quite evident that Louis can tell everything, eyes reading every part of Harry carefully.

“Nothing. It’s just that…” He pauses, as if fighting how to word his next sentence. “I get the feeling you don’t just like Niall,” Louis finally says, eyes digging into Harry.

Harry’s face flushes into an even brighter red, and if that’s not a clear enough answer, nothing else will be.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis sighs sympathetically because he knows. He’s got to, Harry thinks, feeling Louis’ warm arm wrap around him. “It’ll be alright,” he says, squeezing the fabric from Harry’s jacket.

“Will it?” Harry wants to ask, but he doesn’t. He’s afraid of hearing the doubt and uncertainty in Louis’ voice. He’s afraid of the apologetic expression on Louis’ face, but most of all, he’s afraid to believe Louis’ words. He’s spent so much time convincing himself that it’s all in his head, and these words will only get his hopes up if he dares believe them, making the plummeting in his chest even harder to deal with once he’s stricken with reality.

So Harry only nods, allowing himself to be comforted as Louis rubs his back.

He’s not sure if it’s Louis warmth, or if it’s just his fatigue that’s making him so numb, but soon enough, his body relaxes.

*

Harry doesn’t show up to track practice until Wednesday.

No one really seems to notice his presence - well, maybe Zayn glances back at him and nods to him - but no one else does. That is, no one else besides those blue, wonder-filled eyes.

Niall’s eyes widen as his brows shot up to his hairline, as he holds a clipboard close to his chest, stopping his writing once he sees Harry approach him. He’s a bit guarded, Harry notices, with his lips parted open in surprise, and he’s got tense shoulders that look like they won’t budge even if Harry attempts pushing him lightly.

Honestly, it’s exactly what Harry had been expecting but either way, he doesn’t like seeing this look on Niall, stopping to catch his breath as he locks eyes with Niall.

“Hey,” Niall says, uncertainty in his voice, as Harry carefully stands at a good length away from him. The rest of the track team are stretching and talking amongst each other - far too distracted to notice the two boys in front of them.

“Hey,” Harry says quietly, hands in the pockets of his jacket. Niall’s looking at him but he’s not saying anything, making it so, so awkward for both of them.

Harry clears his throat, taking the initiative to speak.

“What do you have there?” he asks, voice strained, signaling the clipboard that’s held tightly in Niall’s hands.

“Oh,” Niall glances down, shoulders rising in defense. “Just the roster for tomorrow.”

“You mean the events?” Harry asks, a bit too quickly but Niall nods.

“I like to have a copy of it,” Niall says, as a silence ensues, which of course Harry hates.

Harry kicks the small pebbles with his feet and Niall’s fiddling with the pencil in his hand, drumming a small beat that sounds out of tempo and chaotic. It’s really strange because Niall’s usually so relaxed and welcoming, but at the moment he’s got an icy posture and he’s biting his lip. He’s certainly not acting as cold as he was on Sunday, but for Niall this behavior is unusual and so unlike him.

“What events are you doing?” Harry asks, trying to break the tension in the outdoor air.

“A couple,” Niall slowly says, with caution. “I’ve got 3.”

Harry nods. And despite the fact that it’s semi awkward, he somehow finds the courage to ask the next question.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” he asks, eyes meeting Niall’s that are shinning with doubt. He’s taken aback by Harry’s question, lips parting open, but recovers shortly and nods.

“I’m sure,” Niall manages to say.

“You’re sure,” Harry repeats, trying to understand each word, as the knots in his stomach tighten, remembering the image of Niall on the floor as he gasped for air. Or the way Niall’s face resembled so much pain, defenseless and full of despair, as he clutched to the area near his chest.

All these memories are ever present in Harry’s head - have been ever since that day he followed Niall to the track field. It’s always been hard for Harry to think about because he hates remembering Niall falling apart, but now as he stands across from Niall’s lovely face that’s flushed from the beating of his heart, it’s just too much for him. He can’t even handle it, sighing loudly from the way the dread is spiraling in his gut. He can’t bare to see Niall’s face anymore, dropping his gaze quickly, as the curls cover the majority of his face.

“Harry…” Niall starts but is silenced once Harry puts on a brave face and looks back up a him, eyes shinning and lips pressed in a tight line, trying his best to remain calm.

 _Why are you so difficult?_ Harry’s eyes are screaming, face flushing into a marvelous pink.

Niall’s not saying anything. He’s just looking at Harry with his blue eyes, scanning every detail of Harry’s face - just like all the other times they’ve shared a small moment, except this time, he knows exactly what Harry’s been longing to tell him because it’s there on Harry’s face. It’s always been there, as Niall’s eye widen.

“Harry - ” Niall hesitates, voice edgy and sharp. He takes a deep breath. “I…” his cheeks are red now, as Harry’s expectant eyes widen.

“Yes?” Harry pushes, faced edged with hope.

Niall swallows loudly, taking another deep breath, looking much stronger than before. “Listen, I - ”

“Horan!” And if Harry’s ever hated hearing Niall’s last name, this would definitely qualify.

“Going!” Niall says, irritated. And it’s when he turns to look back at Harry that Harry knows the moment has once again passed.

“We’ll talk later, yeah?” Niall asks softly, hopeful.

“Sure,” Harry mumbles, although both of them know that there’s no later.

Niall gives Harry one last smile but walks away, leaving Harry to watch after him with those green eyes that are shining with worry. 

*

 When Thursday finally approaches, Harry’s stomach is in knots.

He’s relieved in some level because he’s not competing (he’s still not at a decent level to compete), but it doesn’t stop him from fidgeting once he sees Niall in those red shorts, stretching the muscles of his legs.

Harry’s whole body is tense - a stark contrast of the excitement around him from his classmates, who are waiting for the events to begin, as they sit on the bleachers.

As usual, Harry’s sitting alone. But, it’s possibly best this way because he just won’t stop moving his body, nerves making their way outside of his chest, as the chatter around him builds and he hears a couple of loud giggles that make Harry roll his eyes, but looks up either way, mouth dropping when he sees Liam and Louis take the seats next to him.

“What are you guys doing here?” Harry questions with a frown.

“We’re here to watch,” Liam says, like it’s obvious.

“But don’t you have practice?” Harry mutters.

“Eh. It’s just one practice,” Liam says, but even as he says it, his brows furrow, and Harry knows that it’s because he’s just thought about doing all those lunges as punishment.

“Oh,” is all Harry can say, noticing Louis’ hand on Liam’s knee, squeezing lightly, as Liam turns and nods. Once he does, he looks back at Harry with a glowing face, and Harry knows that Louis must have said something about their last conversation for them to be there.

“You’re not competing today?” Louis asks, smiling.

“They said I wasn’t required to because I’ve only really been there for about two weeks,” Harry admits. “I’m not ready either,” he adds, because realistically that was the only reason he wasn’t competing. He could’ve been forced to but Niall was nice about it, nodding and telling him “it’s fine.”

Harry lingers on the thought of Niall’s smiling face as a small smile graces his own, as Louis lets out a small chuckle.

“That’s a shame. I wanted to see you explode a lung,” Louis jokingly says, but it causes Harry’s face to fall, remembering that Niall’s running not one but three events. 400 m, 5000 m, and the long distance one of 7 miles - all events that require so much speed and stamina - as Harry’s jaw tightens.

“Harry?” Louis’ confused voice calls.

“Yeah?” Harry answer through a small gulp, eyes falling on Niall warming up.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, but Harry’s not properly listening. He’s too busy looking at the way Niall’s breathing in through his nose, face concentrated, which Harry’s come to learn quite well through observation. He’s nervous, Harry notices, as he clasps his hands together and squeezes, hating how the sensation in his chest is catapulting.

Niall breathes in a small breath and opens his eyes, immediately meeting Harry’s eyes. His face falls a little but he nods to Harry, and despite the way Harry’s heart is pounding - mind telling him how wrong this is - he nods.

 

*

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

Liam comments to Harry, who’s watching Niall finish the 400m event. He, of course, won without little to no amount of effort. Or at least that’s what it would like to the natural bystander but not to Harry. He’s looking at the way Niall’s cheeks are flushed and how he’s letting out small coughs that send Harry’s heart bursting.

“He’s the captain,” Louis answers, as if that should explain things. “Although, sometimes the captain's a bit of a tool,” he teasingly says, nudging Liam’s hand.

“Ha,” Liam rolls his eyes, but intertwines his hands together.

Normally, Harry would feel compelled to say some snarky comment about how they should get a room but everything seems to have taken a much smaller role now that Niall’s starting again, face fatigued with exhaustion.

This is his second event and Harry’s already worried because although Niall’s legs are looking sturdy, his form is so weak, like he’s willing himself to keep going.

“He looks good,” Harry hears people comment but he just wants silence them and say _no, he doesn’t. You’d know if you even paid attention._

But he doesn’t. He instead focuses on the way Niall makes his way past them, able to see that his face is redder than before, as Harry’s eyes continue to follow him with every turn that he makes.

It’s not going to last long, Harry knows, hands clutched into a tight first.

“Harry?” And it’s something about Liam’s tone that causes Harry to turn around, noting the worry in Liam’s face.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, gulping. But he doesn’t get to hear what Louis says because the next thing he hears is a couple of girls scream, “Niall!”

Harry turns back with a force, eyes going straight to the group of people he knows are surrounding Niall, and before he can stop himself he stands, eyes desperate to catch a glimpse of anything to let him know that Niall will be okay.

It’s like he’s the one having the attack because he’s struggling to catch his breath and the muscles on his face are straining, but it vanishes as soon as he sees Niall, tired and pale-faced, but finally breathing once again.

He’s too weak that he can’t even walk, supporting his body against Zayn’s - exactly the way Harry did that Friday afternoon.

Harry inhales a small breath and lifts a leg but before he can even move, he feels a strong hand nudge him, confused when he sees Liam and Louis standing, as Liam holds onto him.

“But - ”

“Not yet,” Louis says, shaking his head, as Liam squeezes.

And although Harry’s body is telling him to go either way, he listens - afraid for Niall’s sake - but listens, sitting back down.

 

*

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Harry asks, as they stand outside the nurse’s office.

“Of course,” Louis says, matter-of-factly.

“But what if the nurse comes back?” Harry questions, peaking a glance inside to make sure she’s really gone.

“Then she’ll come back,” Louis frowns, as if Harry’s just made the dumbest question he’s ever heard.

“I don’t know…” Harry says slowly, letting out a small sigh. He hears Liam and Louis mumble to one another, voice inaudible, until hearing Louis let out a loud groan that Harry knows is 100 percent due to Liam.

“We can stand guard,” Liam offers, as Louis mutters, “yeah.”

Harry shakes his head, turning to meet their surprised faces.

“This won’t take long,” he says, smiling softly. “Go on. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Louis looks unconvinced but Liam nudges him again (significantly softer), and lets out a small nod.

“Good luck,” Louis says, as Harry returns the nods and watches them walk away, taking one last glance at him, but relaxing when he grins softly at them.

Harry inhales a small breath but tightly grabs the doorknob, determination etched in his face as he enters, chest swelling with a stupid pressure that’s making his heart do somersaults, but proceeds to make his way inside.

No one else is there and Harry knows that it’s because it’s late in the afternoon and most people have gone home, and for once, Harry’s grateful. 

He carefully examines the office, eyes falling on the room that has the door closed, and he somehow knows that this is it.

And sure enough, when Harry’s hand open it, his breath hitches because there Niall is lying his back on the bed, staring outside the window. However, he tenses when he hears Harry’s footsteps, turning to look at him with that beautifully amazing face of his, eyes wide as they shine.

“Hey,” Niall says softly. He straightens up a little, offering Harry the place next to his legs, which Harry takes without hesitation.

“How are you?” Harry asks, carefully observing Niall’s face. It’s certainly a lot less pale and much more relaxed, but he looks so tired, almost like all the energy has been drained from his body. And Harry’s heart hurts immensely, seeing the amount of effort Niall’s putting to stay strong

“Fine,” Niall says. “Just a little tired but I’m okay,” he smiles softly, a smile which Harry would normally return but he doesn’t. He just sits, inching his way closer to Niall.

“And your mom?” Harry asks, clearing his throat.

“She’ll be picking me up in about half an hour. She works far,” Niall says, keeping his eyes on Harry. It’s like he’s searching for something because his eyes are moving wildly, warm and soft.

“I’m surprised to still see you here,” Niall says after a small moment, voice soft.

“I wanted to see how you were,” Harry whispers, faint and kind. Niall’s eyes widen a bit but he smiles, eyes fondly gazing at Harry - just the way Harry adores - making his heart flutter.

“What’d the nurse say?” Harry clears his throat.

“What I’ve been suspecting for some time. She says I’ve been overdoing it with my runs.” Niall says, sighing but looking as if he’s come to terms with it.

“How much do you run?” Harry asks.

“About 5 to 10 miles a day,” Niall says, shoulder rising.

Harry shakes his head, face softening. “No. How much do you really run?”

“15 to 20 miles,” Niall says in a soft voice, no resistance because Harry’s eyes are like blades.

“I told you all that running was going to do this,” Harry sighs, anger flooding through him, but overcome with concern at Niall sitting on the bed. “I told you, but you didn’t listen.”

“I know you did,” Niall admits in a weak voice. “I’m just so stubborn sometimes, as you probably noticed,” he adds, and this makes Harry feel even worse, but he nods.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Harry breathes. “You are.”

“I guess I’ll just have to have you around more often to make sure that I don’t pass out,” Niall jokingly says, but Harry doesn’t budge a laugh.

“That’s not funny,” he says, voice faint, the edge of his mouth tugged downwards. Niall lets out a small breath but sighs once again.

“I know,” Niall admits, slight smile on his face. “I was just saying,” and this sounds so meek, so unbearably sad - ringing through Harry’s ears. It’s so unlike Niall, so strange to see such a sad face on one that exudes so much glee, and Harry hates it.

So Harry does the next best thing he can.

Without thinking, he takes a step forward, clasping Niall’s soft and flushed cheeks with his hands, cupping them.

Niall’s hesitant face looks up at him from the bed, questions swirling through his head.

“I…” Niall starts reluctantly, but Harry shushes him before Niall can object, connecting their lips, as they slowly move together.

Their noses bumps and their lips aren’t aligned correctly, but everything about the kiss seems right. It’s the way that Niall’s kissing him that feels so amazing, hesitant but stronger with each time Harry massages Niall’s bottom lip with his tongue, as Niall cranes his neck up to allow Harry to keep kissing him, letting himself get lost in the kiss.

It’s perhaps all Harry’s thought about since he’s seen Niall, but he could’ve never imagined it this way. Niall’s lips are so competent and have a paralyzing sting to them that make Harry want to kiss him until his lips are numb.

And he will. If it’s up to him, at least.

Harry’s reluctant when he pulls back, hands stroking the redness that’s tainting all of Niall’s cheeks and flushing him wild, but nuzzles his nose against Niall’s.

Niall lets out a small breath as he finally gives Harry that look he’s been longing to see.

“You’ll be here?” Niall asks breathlessly, breath hitting Harry’s face as their lips brush. “I mean, you won’t leave?”

Harry shakes his head, too full to speak. He doesn’t even have the right words to say, but he knows that when the time is right, he’ll finally be able to say those three words that are at the tip of his tongue.

For now, all he can do is wait, and he will because with Niall there’s no other thing to do besides wait.

Niall gives him a gentle smile and lifts his head up, connecting their lips once again, as Harry hums into the kiss.

It’s wonderfully addicting and he’s fully in it that they lose track of time. A minute, five minutes, ten - it really doesn’t matter.

All that matters is Niall’s lips, the way he’s breathing roughly through his nose, the eagerness in his kiss...just Niall.

And really, Harry’s fine with that, kissing Niall until Niall’s heartbeat finally falls into place.

One day they’ll learn to translate each other’s feelings through touches, grazing the sensitive skin they’ve been longing to touch and explore each other’s bodies. One day, Harry hopes, they’ll make love, but at the moment this is all they can do, stopping their kissing to lie down next to Niall and hold him tightly, letting him know what he wasn’t able to express through words: he’ll always be there.

 

*

Harry stops running after the first competition.

No one seems too bothered by it and Louis and Liam even seemed ecstatic because of Harry’s cheeky way of saying, “I already have what I want.”

They don’t tease him about it but it’s clear that they know, nodding in approval as they fondly mess Harry’s curls up, telling him “no more practice, huh?” And like a fool, Harry smiles softly, absolute glee in his eyes.

He still goes to Niall’s practices, though, because despite the fact that Niall’s on provision for his health, he’s still running. He’s got a lot of eyes on him, but he’s not overdoing it this time - with Harry’s help, of course.

Currently, Harry’s watching Niall talk with his group of friends, smiling brightly, but it falls slightly when he sees Harry, only for it to be replaced by an even more breathtaking one that’s so wonderfully blinding, but this time it’s directed at him, and only him.

Niall frees himself from the crowd as the talking dies down, as Harry gets up from the bleachers and makes his way to him, wrapping his arms around Niall as Niall connects their lips.

Some people gasp, some girls squeal, but the majority of them stare, coming as a surprise to so many because they had no clue - a bit silly when considering the lingering glances Niall gave Harry, and how Niall pointed at him each time he came in first, as if saying, _see that?_

However, Harry just tightens his grip on Niall, smiling into the kiss.

He’ll give them a reason to stare.

*

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://arie-172.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi.


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